COWBOY  SONGS 


JOHNA-LOMAX 


BALLAD    COLLECTION,- 

UBRARY  OF  s.  GKISWOLD  MORLEB 


DE  JOUR 

U\  JOUR 


MOURAWT 


DE  IA 

BffiUOTHfcQUE  DE 
S.  GRBWOLD  MORLEV 


Jt 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
S.  GRISWOLD  MORLEY  COLLECTION 


COWBOY  SONGS 

AND  OTHER  FRONTIER  BALLADS 


*    *    * 


What  keeps  the  herd  from  running, 
Stampeding  far  and  wide  ? 
The  cowboy's  long,  low  whistle, 
And  singing  by  their  side. 


*    *    * 


COWBOY   SONGS 


AND  OTHER  FRONTIER  BALLADS 


COLLECTED    BY 

JOHN  A.  LOMAX,  M.  A. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  TEXAS 

SHELDON  FELLOW  FOR  THE  INVESTIGATION  OF  AMERICAN  BALLADS, 
HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION   BY 

BARRETT  WENDELL 


Ifrfogorfc 

THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

1918 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright  1910,  1916 
By  STURGIS  &   WALTON   COMPANY]] 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  November,  1910 

Reprinted  April,  1911,  January,  1915 

New  Edition  with  additions,  March,  1916,  April,  1917 

December,  1918 


Go 

MR.  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

WHO  WHILE  PRESIDENT   WAS  NOT  TOO    BUSY  TO 

TURN  ASIDE— CHEERFULLY  AND  EFFECTIVELY— 

AND  AID  WORKERS  IN  THE   FIELD  OF  AMERICAN 

BALLADRY,   THIS  VOLUME  IS  GRATEFULLY 

DEDICATED 


~jt~**+j       £^&*~ 


o 

6 


~y- 


-ir^* 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ARAPHOE,  OR  BUCKSKIN  JOE 390 

ARIZONA  BOYS  AND  GIRLS,  THE 211 

BILL  PETERS,  THE  STAGE  DRIVER 100 

BELLY  THE  Kro 344 

BILLY  VENERO 299 

BOB  STANFORD 265 

BONNIE  BLACK  BESS 194 

BOOZER,  THE 304 

BOSTON  BURGLAR,  THE 147 

BRIGHAM  YOUNG,  I 399 

BRIGHAM  YOUNG,  II 401 

BRONC  PEELER'S  SONG 377 

BUCKING  BRONCHO 367 

BUENA  VISTA  BATTLEFIELD 34 

BUFFALO  HUNTERS 185 

BUFFALO  SKINNERS,  THE 158 

BULL  WHACKER,  THE 69 

BY  MARKENTURA'S  FLOWERY  MARGE 224 

CALIFORNIA  JOE 139 

CALIFORNIA  STAGE  COMPANY VV ,.'...  4" 

CALIFORNIA  TRAIL.   .  ".  '...'•  V,   .  ".   ."'.  .  *  .  •""•*••  •  •  '  375 

CAMP  FIRE  HAS  GONE  OUT,  THE  ....".'. 322 

CHARLIE  RUTLAGE  .   .  .  .  ". .  V  .  ^ .  •  /  i'i  .  267 

CHOPO   .   .   .   ....  ".y"»\ '. ;. /.".".  t, 37i 

COLE  YOUNGER  .   .   *«>'.*.  YV.  V!. 'y IQ6 

CONVICT,  THE.  .  \'.\  V.V./.  '*  •' 290 

ix 


Contents 

PAGE 

Cow  CAMP  ON  THE  RANGE,  A 358 

COWBOY,  THE  .  ;!  .  .  ....... 96 

COWBOY  AT  CHURCH,  THE 246 

COWBOY  AT  WORK,  THE 352 

COWBOY'S  CHRISTMAS  BALL,  THE 335 

COWBOY'S  DREAM,  THE 18 

COWBOY'S  LAMENT,  THE 74 

COWBOY'S  LIFE,  THE 20 

COWBOY'S  MEDITATION,  THE 297 

COWGIRL,  THE 251 

COWMAN'S  PRAYER,  THE 24 

CROOKED  TRAIL  TO  HOLBROOK,  THE 121 

DAN  TAYLOR 51 

DAYS  OF  FORTY-NINE,  THE 9 

DEER  HUNT,  A 379 

DESERTED  ADOBE,  THE 350 

DISHEARTENED  RANGER,  THE 261 

DOGIE  SONG 303 

DOWN  SOUTH  ON  THE  Rio  GRANDE 331 

DREARY  BLACK  HILLS,  THE 177 

DREARY,  DREARY  LIFE,  THE 233 

DRINKING  SONG 305 

DRUNKARD'S  HELL,  THE 395 

DYING  COWBOY,  THE 3 

DYING  RANGER,  THE 214 

FAIR  FANNIE  MOORE 219 

FOOLS  OF  FORTY-NINE,  THE 404 

FOREMAN  MONROE 174 

FRECKLES,  A  FRAGMENT 360 

FULLER  AND  WARREN 126 

FRAGMENT,  A 306 

FRAGMENT,  A 309 

FREIGHTING  FROM  WILCOX  TO  GLOBE 207 

X 


Contents 

PAGE 

GAL  I  LEFT  BEHIND  ME,  THE 342 

GOL-DARNED  WHEEL,  THE 190 

GREAT  ROUND-UP,  THE 282 

GREEK  COUNTY 278 

HABIT,  THE 327 

HAPPY  MINER,  THE 409 

HARD  TIMES 103 

HARRY  BALE 172 

HELL  IN  TEXAS 222 

HELL-BOUND  TRAIN,  THE 345 

HERE'S  TO  THE  RANGER 354 

HER  WHITE  BOSOM  BARE 271 

HOME  ON  THE  RANGE,  A 39 

HORSE  WRANGLER,  THE 136 

I'M  A  GOOD  OLD  REBEL 94 

JACK  DONAHOO 64 

JACK  o'  DIAMONDS 292 

JERRY,  Go  ILE  THAT  CAR 112 

JESSE  JAMES 27 

Jm  FARROW 237 

JOE  BOWERS 15 

JOHN  GARNER'S  TRAIL  HERD 114 

JOLLY  COWBOY,  THE 284 

JUAN  MURRAY 276 

KANSAS  LINE,  THE 22 

LACKEY  BILL 83 

LAST  LONGHORN,  THE 197 

LIFE  IN  A  HALF-BREED  SHACK 386 

LITTLE  JOE,  THE  WRANGLER 167 

LITTLE  OLD  SOD  SHANTY,  THE 187 

LONE  BUFFALO  HUNTER,  THE 119 

LONE  STAR  TRAIL,  THE 310 

LOVE  IN  DISGUISE 77 


Contents 

PAGE 

MCCAFFIE'S  CONFESSION 164 

MAN  NAMED  HODS,  A 307 

MELANCHOLY  COWBOY,  THE 263 

METIS  SONG  OF  THE  BUFFALO  HUNTERS 72 

MINER'S  SONG,  THE 25 

MISSISSIPPI  GIRLS 108 

MORMON  SONG 182 

MORMON  BISHOP'S  LAMENT,  THE 47 

MUSTANG  GRAY 79 

MUSTER  OUT  THE  RANGER 356 

NEW  NATIONAL  ANTHEM 413 

NIGHT-HERDING  SONG 324 

OLD  CHISHOLM  TRAIL,  THE 58 

OLD  GRAY  MULE,  THE 403 

OLD  MAN  UNDER  THE  HILL,  THE no 

OLD  PAINT 329 

OLD  SCOUT'S  LAMENT,  THE 117 

OLD  SCOUT'S  LAMENT,  THE 348 

OLD  TIME  COWBOY    .  . 365 

ONLY  A  COWBOY 124 

PECOS  QUEEN,  THE 369 

PINTO    ........ 340 

POOR  LONESOME  COWBOY    . 32 

PRISONER  FOR  LIFE,  A 200 

RAILROAD  CORRAL,  THE 318 

RAMBLING  BAY 397 

RAMBLING  COWBOY,  THE 244 

RANGE  RIDERS,  THE 269 

RATTLESNAKE  —  A  RANCH  HAYING  SONG 315 

RIPPING  TRIP,  A 407 

ROAD  TO  COOK'S  PEAK 388 

ROOT  HOG  OR  DIE 254 

ROSIN  THE  Bow 280 

xii 


Contents 

PAGE 

ROUNDED  UP  IN  GLORY 393 

SAM  BASS 149 

SHANTY  BOY,  THE 252 

SILVER  JACK 332 

Sioux  INDIANS 56 

SKEW-BALL  BLACK,  THE 243 

SONG  OF  THE  "METIS"  TRAPPER,  THE 320 

STATE  or  ARKANSAW,  THE 226 

SWEET  BETSY  FROM  PIKE 258 

TAIL  PIECE 326 

TEXAS  COWBOY,  THE 229 

TOP  HAND 373 

TEXAS  RANGERS 44 

TRAIL  TO  MEXICO,  THE 132 

U.  S.  A.  RECRUIT,  THE 249 

UTAH  CARROLL 66 

WARS  OF  GERMANY,  THE 204 

WAY  DOWN  IN  MEXICO 314 

WESTWARD  Ho 37 

WHEN  THE  WORK  is  DONE  THIS  FALL 53 

WHOOPEE-TI-YI-YO,  Grr  ALONG  LITTLE  DOGIES 87 

WHOSE  OLD  Cow 362 

WILD  ROVERS 383 

WINDY  BILL 381 

U-S-U  RANGE 92 

YOUNG  CHARLOTTIE 239 

YOUNG  COMPANIONS 81 

ZEBRA  DUN,  THE 154 


Xlll 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  now  four  or  five  years  since  my  atten- 
tion was  called  to  the  collection  of  native  Amer- 
ican ballads  from  the  Southwest,  already  begun  by 
Professor  Lomax.  At  that  time,  he  seemed  hardly 
to  appreciate  their  full  value  and  importance.  To 
my  colleague,  Professor  G.  L.  Kittredge,  probably 
the  most  eminent  authority  on  folk-song  in  America, 
this  value  and  importance  appeared  as  indubitable 
as  it  appeared  to  me.  We  heartily  joined  in  encour- 
aging the  work,  as  a  real  contribution  both  to  litera- 
ture and  to  learning.  The  present  volume  is  the 
first  published  result  of  these  efforts. 

The  value  and  importance  of  the  work  seems  to 
me  double.  One  phase  of  it  is  perhaps  too  highly 
special  ever  to  be  popular.  Whoever  has  begun  the 
inexhaustibly  fascinating  study  of  popular  song  and 
literature  — of  the  nameless  poetry  which  vigorously 
lives  through  the  centuries  —  must  be  perplexed  by 
the  necessarily  conjectural  opinions  concerning  its 
origin  and  development  held  by  various  and  disput- 
ing scholars.  When  songs  were  made  in  times  and 
terms  which  for  centuries  have  been  not  living  facts 
but  facts  of  remote  history  or  tradition,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  be  sure  quite  how  they  begun,  and  by  quite 
what  means  they  sifted  through  the  centuries  into 


Introduction 

the  forms  at  last  securely  theirs,  in  the  final  rigidity 
of  print.  In  this  collection  of  American  ballads,  al- 
most if  not  quite  uniquely,  it  is  possible  to  trace  the 
precise  manner  in  which  songs  and  cycles  of  song  — 
obviously  analogous  to  those  surviving  from  older 
and  antique  times  —  have  come  into  being.  The 
facts  which  are  still  available  concerning  the  ballads 
of  our  own  Southwest  are  such  as  should  go  far  to 
prove,  or  to  disprove,  many  of  the  theories  advanced 
concerning  the  laws  of  literature  as  evinced  in  the 
ballads  of  the  old  world. 

Such  learned  matter  as  this,  however,  is  not  so 
surely  within  my  province,  who  have  made  no  tech- 
nical study  of  literary  origins,  as  is  the  other  consid- 
eration which  made  me  feel,  from  my  first  knowl- 
edge of  these  ballads,  that  they  are  beyond  dispute 
valuable  and  important.  In  the  ballads  of  the  old 
world,  it  is  not  historical  or  philological  considera- 
tions which  most  readers  care  for.  It  is  the  wonder- 
ful, robust  vividness  of  their  artless  yet  supremely 
true  utterance;  it  is  the  natural  vigor  of  their  surgent, 
unsophisticated  human  rhythm.  It  is  the  sense,  de- 
rived one  can  hardly  explain  how,  that  here  is  ex- 
pression straight  from  the  heart  of  humanity;  that 
here  is  something  like  the  sturdy  root  from  which  the 
finer,  though  not  always  more  lovely,  flowers  of 
polite  literature  have  sprung.  At  times  when  we 
yearn  for  polite  grace,  ballads  may  seem  rude;  at 
times  when  polite  grace  seems  tedious,  sophisticated, 
corrupt,  or  mendacious,  their  very  rudeness  refreshes 


Introduction 

us  with  a  new  sense  of  brimming  life.  To  compare 
the  songs  collected  by  Professor  Lomax  with  the  im- 
mortalities of  olden  time  is  doubtless  like  comparing 
the  literature  of  America  with  that  of  all  Europe  to- 
gether. Neither  he  nor  any  of  us  would  pretend 
these  verses  to  be  of  supreme  power  and  beauty. 
None  the  less,  they  seem  to  me,  and  to  many  who 
have  had  a  glimpse  of  them,  sufficiently  powerful, 
and  near  enough  beauty,  to  give  us  some  such  whole- 
some and  enduring  pleasure  as  comes  from  work  of 
this  kind  proved  and  acknowledged  to  be  masterly. 

What  I  mean  may  best  be  implied,  perhaps,  by  a 
brief  statement  of  fact.  Four  or  five  years  ago,  Pro- 
fessor Lomax,  at  my  request,  read  some  of  these  bal- 
lads to  one  of  my  classes  at  Harvard,  then  engaged  in 
studying  the  literary  history  of  America.  From  that 
hour  to  the  present,  the  men  who  heard  these  verses, 
during  the  cheerless  progress  of  a  course  of  study, 
have  constantly  spoken  of  them  and  written  of  them, 
as  of  something  sure  to  linger  happily  in  memory. 
As  such  I  commend  them  to  all  who  care  for  the 
native  poetry  of  America. 

BARRETT  WENDELL. 

Nahant,  Massachusetts, 

July  n,  1910. 


COLLECTOR'S  NOTE 

Out  in  the  wild,  far-away  places  of  the  big  and 
still  unpeopled  west, —  in  the  canons  along  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  among  the  mining  camps  of  Ne- 
vada and  Montana,  and  on  the  remote  cattle  ranches 
of  Texas,  New  Mexico,  and  Arizona, —  yet  survives 
the  Anglo-Saxon  ballad  spirit  that  was  active  in 
secluded  districts  in  England  and  Scotland  even  after 
the  coming  of  Tennyson  and  Browning.  This  spirit 
is  manifested  both  in  the  preservation  of  the  English 
ballad  and  in  the  creation  of  local  songs.  Illiterate 
people,  and  people  cut  off  from  newspapers  and 
books,  isolated  and  lonely, —  thrown  back  on  primal 
resources  for  entertainment  and  for  the  expression  of 
emotion, —  utter  themselves  through  somewhat  the 
same  character  of  songs  as  did  their  forefathers  of 
perhaps  a  thousand  years  ago.  In  some  such  way 
have  been  made  and  preserved  the  cowboy  songs  and 
other  frontier  ballads  contained  in  this  volume.  The 
songs  represent  the  operation  of  instinct  and  tradition. 
They  are  chiefly  interesting  to  the  present  generation, 
however,  because  of  the  light  they  throw  on  the  con- 
ditions of  pioneer  life,  and  more  particularly  because 
of  the  information  they  contain  concerning  that 
unique  and  romantic  figure  in  modern  civilization,  the 
American  cowboy. 


Collector's  Note- 

The  profession  of  cow-punching,  not  yet  a  lost  art 
in  a  group  of  big  western  states,  reached  its  greatest 
prominence  during  the  first  two  decades  succeeding 
the  Civil  War.  In  Texas,  for  example,  immense 
tracts  of  open  range,  covered  with  luxuriant  grass, 
encouraged  the  raising  of  cattle.  One  person  in 
many  instances  owned  thousands.  To  care  for  the 
cattle  during  the  winter  season,  to  round  them  up 
in  the  spring  and  mark  and  brand  the  yearlings,  and 
later  to  drive  from  Texas  to  Fort  Dodge,  Kansas, 
those  ready  for  market,  required  large  forces  of  men. 
The  drive  from  Texas  to  Kansas  came  to  be  known 
as  "  going  up  the  trail,"  for  the  cattle  really  made 
permanent,  deep-cut  trails  across  the  otherwise  track- 
less hills  and  plains  of  the  long  way.  It  also  be- 
came the  custom  to  take  large  herds  of  young  steers 
from  Texas  as  far  north  as  Montana,  where  grass 
at  certain  seasons  grew  more  luxuriant  than  in  the 
south.  Texas  was  the  best  breeding  ground,  while 
the  climate  and  grass  of  Montana  developed  young 
cattle  for  the  market. 

A  trip  up  the  trail  made  a  distinct  break  in  the 
monotonous  life  of  the  big  ranches,  often  situated 
hundreds  of  miles  from  where  the  conventions  of 
society  were  observed.  The  ranch  community  con- 
sisted usually  of  the  boss,  the  straw-boss,  the  cowboys 
proper,  the  horse  wrangler,  and  the  cook  —  often  a 
negro.  These  men  lived  on  terms  of  practical 
equality.  Except  in  the  case  of  the  boss,  there  was 
little  difference  in  the  amounts  paid  each  for  his 


Collector's  Note 

services.  Society,  then,  was  here  reduced  to  its  low- 
est terms.  The  work  of  the  men,  their  daily  expe- 
riences, their  thoughts,  their  interests,  were  all  in 
common.  Such  a  community  had  necessarily  to  turn 
to  itself  for  entertainment.  Songs  sprang  up 
naturally,  some  of  them  tender  and  familiar  lays  of 
childhood,  others  original  compositions,  all  genuine, 
however  crude  and  unpolished.  Whatever  the  most 
gifted  man  could  produce  must  bear  the  criticism  of 
the  entire  camp,  and  agree  with  the  ideas  of  a  group 
of  men.  In  this  sense,  therefore,  any  song  that  came 
from  such  a  group  would  be  the  joint  product  of  a 
number  of  them,  telling  perhaps  the  story  of  some 
stampede  they  had  all  fought  to  turn,  some  crime  in 
which  they  had  all  shared  equally,  some  comrade's 
tragic  death  which  they  had  all  witnessed.  The 
song-making  did  not  cease  as  the  men  went  up  the 
trail.  Indeed  the  songs  were  here  utilized  for  very 
practical  ends.  Not  only  were  sharp,  rhythmic 
yells  —  sometimes  beaten  into  verse  —  employed  to 
stir  up  lagging  cattle,  but  also  during  the  long 
watches  the  night-guards,  as  they  rode  round  and 
round  the  herd,  improvised  cattle  lullabies  which 
quieted  the  animals  and  soothed  them  to  sleep. 
Some  of  the  best  of  the  so-called  "  dogie  songs  " 
seem  to  have  been  created  for  the  purpose  of  pre- 
venting cattle  stampedes, —  such  songs  coming 
straight  from  the  heart  of  the  cowboy,  speaking 
familiarly  to  his  herd  in  the  stillness  of  the  night. 
The  long  drives  up  the  trail  occupied  months,  and 


Collector's  Note 

called  for  sleepless  vigilance  and  tireless  activity  both 
day  and  night.  When  at  last  a  shipping  point  was 
reached,  the  cattle  marketed  or  loaded  on  the  cars, 
the  cowboys  were  paid  off.  It  is  not  surprising  that 
the  consequent  relaxation  led  to  reckless  deeds.  The 
music,  the  dancing,  the  click  of  the  roulette  ball  in 
the  saloons,  invited;  the  lure  of  crimson  lights  was 
irresistible.  Drunken  orgies,  reactions  from  months 
of  toil,  deprivation,  and  loneliness  on  the  ranch  and 
on  the  trail,  brought  to  death  many  a  temporarily 
crazed  buckaroo.  To  match  this  dare-deviltry,  a 
saloon  man  in  one  frontier  town,  as  a  sign  for  his 
business,  with  psychological  ingenuity  painted  across 
the  broad  front  of  his  building  in  big  black  letters 
this  challenge  to  God,  man,  and  the  devil:  The 
Road  to  Ruin.  Down  this  road,  with  swift  and 
eager  footsteps,  has  trod  many  a  pioneer  viking  of 
the  West.  Quick  to  resent  an  insult  real  or 
fancied,  inflamed  by  unaccustomed  drink,  the  ready 
pistol  always  at  his  side,  the  tricks  of  the  professional 
gambler  to  provoke  his  sense  of  fair  play,  and  finally 
his  own  wild  recklessness  to  urge  him  on, —  all  these 
combined  forces  sometimes  brought  him  into  tragic 
conflict  with  another  spirit  equally  heedless  and  dar- 
ing. Not  nearly  so  often,  however,  as  one  might 
suppose,  did  he  die  with  his  boots  on.  Many  of  the 
most  wealthy  and  respected  citizens  now  living  in  the 
border  states  served  as  cowboys  before  settling  down 
to  quiet  domesticity. 

A  cow-camp  in  the  seventies  generally  contained 


Collector's  Note 

several  types  of  men.  It  was  not  unusual  to  find  a 
negro  who,  because  of  his  ability  to  handle  wild 
horses  or  because  of  his  skill  with  a  lasso,  had  been 
promoted  from  the  chuck-wagon  to  a  place  in  the 
ranks  of  the  cowboys.  Another  familiar  figure  was 
the  adventurous  younger  son  of  some  British  family, 
through  whom  perhaps  became  current  the  English 
ballads  found  in  the  West.  Furthermore,  so  con- 
siderable was  the  number  of  men  who  had  fled  from 
the  States  because  of  grave  imprudence  or  crime,  it 
was  bad  form  to  inquire  too  closely  about  a  person's 
real  name  or  where  he  came  from.  Most  cowboys, 
however,  were  bold  young  spirits  who  emigrated  to 
the  West  for  the  same  reason  that  their  ancestors 
had  come  across  the  seas.  They  loved  roving;  they 
loved  freedom;  they  were  pioneers  by  instinct;  an 
impulse  set  their  faces  from  the  East,  put  the  tang 
for  roaming  in  their  veins,  and  sent  them  ever,  ever 
westward. 

That  the  cowboy  was  brave  has  come  to  be  axio- 
matic. If  his  life  of  isolation  made  him  taciturn, 
it  at  the  same  time  created  a  spirit  of  hospitality, 
primitive  and  hearty  as  that  found  in  the  mead-halls 
of  Beowulf.  He  faced  the  wind  and  the  rain,  the 
snow  of  winter,  the  fearful  dust-storms  of  alkali 
desert  wastes,  with  the  same  uncomplaining  quiet. 
Not  all  his  work  was  on  the  ranch  and  the  trail. 
To  the  cowboy,  more  than  to  the  goldseekers,  more 
than  to  Uncle  Sam's  soldiers,  is  due  the  conquest  of 
the  West.  Along  his  winding  cattle  trails  the 


Collector's  Note 

Forty-Niners  found  their  way  to  California.  The 
cowboy  has  fought  back  the  Indians  ever  since  ranch- 
ing became  a  business  and  as  long  as  Indians  remained 
to  be  fought.  He  played  his  part  in  winning  the 
great  slice  of  territory  that  the  United  States  took 
away  from  Mexico.  He  has  always  been  on  the 
skirmish  line  of  civilization.  Restless,  fearless, 
chivalric,  elemental,  he  lived  hard,  shot  quick  and 
true,  and  died  with  his  face  to  his  foe.  Still  much 
misunderstood,  he  is  often  slandered,  nearly  always 
caricatured,  both  by  the  press  and  by  the  stage.  Per- 
haps these  songs,  coming  direct  from  the  cowboy's 
experience,  giving  vent  to  his  careless  and  his  tender 
emotions,  will  afford  future  generations  a  truer  con- 
ception of  what  he  really  was  than  is  now  possessed 
by  those  who  know  him  only  through  highly  colored 
romances. 

The  big  ranches  of  the  West  are  now  being  cut  up 
into  small  farms.  The  nester  has  come,  and  come  to 
stay.  Gone  is  the  buffalo,  the  Indian  warwhoop,  the 
free  grass  of  the  open  plain;  —  even  the  stinging 
lizard,  the  horned  frog,  the  centipede,  the  prairie 
dog,  the  rattlesnake,  are  fast  disappearing.  Save 
in  some  of  the  secluded  valleys  of  southern  New 
Mexico,  the  old-time  round-up  is  no  more;  the  trails 
to  Kansas  and  to  Montana  have  become  grass-grown 
or  lost  in  fields  of  waving  grain;  the  maverick  steer, 
the  regal  longhorn,  has  been  supplanted  by  his  un- 
poetic  but  more  beefy  and  profitable  Polled  Angus, 
Durham,  and  Hereford  cousins  from  across  the  seas. 


Collector's  Note 

The  changing  and  romantic  West  of  the  early  days 
lives  mainly  in  story  and  in  song.  The  last  figure  to 
vanish  is  the  cowboy,  the  animating  spirit  of  the 
vanishing  era.  He  sits  his  horse  easily  as  he  rides 
through  a  wide  valley,  enclosed  by  mountains, 
clad  in  the  hazy  purple  of  coming  night, —  with  his 
face  turned  steadily  down  the  long,  long  road,  "  the 
road  that  the  sun  goes  down."  Dauntless,  reckless, 
without  the  unearthly  purity  of  Sir  Galahad  though 
as  gentle  to  a  pure  woman  as  King  Arthur,  he  is 
truly  a  knight  of  the  twentieth  century.  A  vagrant 
puff  of  wind  shakes  a  corner  of  the  crimson  hand- 
kerchief knotted  loosely  at  his  throat;  the  thud  of 
his  pony's  feet  mingling  with  the  jingle  of  his  spurs 
is  borne  back;  and  as  the  careless,  gracious,  lovable 
figure  disappears  over  the  divide,  the  breeze  brings 
to  the  ears,  faint  and  far  yet  cheery  still,  the  refrain 
of  a  cowboy  song: 

Whoopee  ti  yi,  git  along,  little  dogies; 

It's  my  misfortune  and  none  of  your  own. 
Whoopee  ti  yi,  git  along,  little  dogies ; 

For  you  know  Wyoming  will  be  your  new  home. 

As  for  the  songs  of  this  collection,  I  have  violated 
the  ethics  of  ballad-gatherers,  in  a  few  instances,  by 
selecting  and  putting  together  what  seemed  to  be  the 
best  lines  from  different  versions,  all  telling  the  same 
story.  Frankly,  the  volume  is  meant  to  be  popular. 
The  songs  have  been  arranged  in  some  such  hap- 


Collector's  Note 

hazard  way  as  they  were  collected, —  jotted  down 
on  a  table  in  the  rear  of  saloons,  scrawled  on  an 
envelope  while  squatting  about  a  campfire,  caught 
behind  the  scenes  of  a  broncho-busting  outfit.  Later, 
it  is  hoped  that  enough  interest  will  be  aroused  to 
justify  printing  all  the  variants  of  these  songs,  ac- 
companied by  the  music  and  such  explanatory 
notes  as  may  be  useful;  the  negro  folk-songs,  the 
songs  of  the  lumber  jacks,  the  songs  of  the  moun- 
taineers, and  the  songs  of  the  sea,  already  partially 
collected,  being  included  in  the  final  publication. 
The  songs  of  this  collection,  never  before  in  print, 
as  a  rule  have  been  taken  down  from  oral  recitation. 
In  only  a  few  instances  have  I  been  able  to  dis- 
cover the  authorship  of  any  song.  They  seem  to 
have  sprung  up  as  quietly  and  mysteriously  as  does 
the  grass  on  the  plains.  All  have  been  popular  with 
the  range  riders,  several  being  current  all  the  way 
from  Texas  to  Montana,  and  quite  as  long  as  the 
old  Chisholm  Trail  stretching  between  these  states. 
Some  of  the  songs  the  cowboy  certainly  composed; 
all  of  them  he  sang.  Obviously,  a  number  of  the 
most  characteristic  cannot  be  printed  for  general 
circulation.  To  paraphrase  slightly  what  Sidney 
Lanier  said  of  Walt  Whitman's  poetry,  they  are  raw 
collops  slashed  from  the  rump  of  Nature,  and  never 
mind  the  gristle.  Likewise  some  of  the  strong  ad- 
jectives and  nouns  have  been  softened, —  Jonahed,  as 
George  Meredith  would  have  said.  There  is,  how- 


Collector's  Note 

ever,  a  Homeric  quality  about  the  cowboy's  profanity 
and  vulgarity  that  pleases  rather  than  repulses.  The 
broad  sky  under  which  he  slept,  the  limitless  plains 
over  which  he  rode,  the  big,  open,  free  life  he  lived 
near  to  Nature's  breast,  taught  him  simplicity, 
calm,  directness.  He  spoke  out  plainly  the  impulses 
of  his  heart.  But  as  yet  so-called  polite  society  is  not 
quite  willing  to  hear. 

It  is  entirely  impossible  to  acknowledge  the  as- 
sistance I  have  received  from  many  persons.  To 
Professors  Barrett  Wendell  and  G.  L.  Kittredge,  of 
Harvard,  I  must  gratefully  acknowledge  constant 
and  generous  encouragement.  Messrs.  Jeff  Hanna, 
of  Meridian,  Texas;  John  B.  Jones,  a  student  of  the 
Agricultural  and  Mechanical  College  of  Texas;  H. 
Knight,  Sterling  City,  Texas;  John  Lang  Sinclair, 
San  Antonio;  A.  H.  Belo  &  Co.,  Dallas;  Tom  Hight, 
of  Mangum,  Oklahoma;  R.  Bedichek,  of  Deming,  N. 
M.;  Benjamin  Wyche,  Librarian  of  the  Carnegie 
Library,  San  Antonio;  Mrs.  M.  B.  Wight,  of  Ft. 
Thomas,  Arizona;  Dr.  L.  W.  Payne,  Jr.,  and  Dr. 
Morgan  Callaway,  Jr.,  of  the  University  of  Texas; 
and  my  brother,  R.  C.  Lomax,  Austin ;  —  have  ren- 
dered me  especially  helpful  service  in  furnishing  ma- 
terial, for  which  I  also  render  grateful  thanks. 

Among  the  negroes,  rivermen,  miners,  soldiers, 
seamen,  lumbermen,  railroad  men,  and  ranchmen  of 
the  United  States  and  Canada  there  are  many  in- 
digenous folk-songs  not  included  in  this  volume.  Of 


Collector's  Note 

some  of  them  I  have  traces,  and  I  shall  surely  run 
them  down.  I  beg  the  co-operation  of  all  who  are 
interested  in  this  vital,  however  humble,  expression 
of  American  literature. 

J.  A.  L. 

Deming,  New  Mexico, 

August  8,  1910. 


COWBOY  SONGS 

AND  OTHER  FRONTIER  BALLADS 


\L  JH 

?wu^v^ 


.*»" 


-  *»*l«B*i      *'T^  **/-£/ 

THE  DYING  COWBOY  * 

BURY  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie," 
These  words  came  low  and  mournfully 

From  the  pallid  lips  of  a  youth  who  lay 

On  his  dying  bed  at  the  close  of  day. 

He  had  wailed  in  pain  till  o'er  his  brow 
Death's  shadows  fast  were  gathering  now; 
He  thought  of  his  home  and  his  loved  ones  nigh 
As  the  cowboys  gathered  to  see  him  die. 

"  O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie 
Where  the  wild  cayotes  will  howl  o'er  me, 
In  a  narrow  grave  just  six  by  three, 
O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

"  In  fancy  I  listen  to  the  well  known  words 
Of  the  free,  wild  winds  and  the  song  of  the  birds; 
I  think  of  home  and  the  cottage  in  the  bower 
And  the  scenes  I  loved  in  my  childhood's  hour. 

"  It  matters  not,  I've  oft  been  told, 

Where  the  body  lies  when  the  heart  grows  cold; 

Yet  grant,  Oh  grant  this  wish  to  me, 

O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

*  In  this  song,  as  in  several  others,  the  chorus  should  come 
in  after  each  stanza.  The  arrangement  followed  has  been  adopted 
to  illustrate  versions  current  in  different  sections. 

»<n( 


The  Dying  Cowboy 

"  O  then  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie, 
In  a  narrow  grave  six  foot  by  three, 
Where  the  buffalo  paws  o'er  a  prairie  sea, 
O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

"  I've  always  wished  to  be  laid  when  I  died 
In  the  little  churchyard  on  the  green  hillside; 
By  my  father's  grave,  there  let  mine  be, 
And  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie 

"  Let  my   death   slumber  be   where   my   mother's 

prayer 

And  a  sister's  tear  will  mingle  there, 
Where  my  friends  can  come  and  weep  o'er  me; 
O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

"  O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie 

In  a  narrow  grave  just  six  by  three, 

Where  the  buzzard  waits  and  the  wind  blows  free ; 

Then  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

"  There  is  another  whose  tears  may  be  shed 

For  one  who  lies  on  a  prairie  bed; 

It  pained  me  then  and  it  pains  me  now;  — 

She  has  curled  these  locks,  she  has  kissed  this  brow. 

"  These  locks  she  has  curled,  shall  the  rattlesnake 

kiss? 
This  brow  she  has  kissed,  shall  the  cold  grave  press  ? 


The  Dying  Cowboy 

For  the  sake  of  the  loved  ones  that  will  weep  for  me 
O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

"  O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie 
Where  the  wild  cayotes  will  howl  o'er  me, 
Where  the  buzzard  beats  and  the  wind  goes  free, 
O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie. 

"  O  bury  me  not,"  and  his  voice  failed  there, 
But  we  took  no  heed  of  his  dying  prayer; 
In  a  narrow  grave  just  six  by  three 
We  buried  him  there  on  the  lone  prairie.. 

Where  the  dew-drops  glow  and  the  butterflies  rest, 
And  the  flowers  bloom  o'er  the  prairie's  crest; 
Where  the  wild  cayote  and  winds  sport  free 
On  a  wet  saddle  blanket  lay  a  cowboy-ee. 

"  O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie 
Where  the  wild  cayotes  will  howl  o'er  me, 
Where  the  rattlesnakes  hiss  and  the  crow  flies  free 
O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie." 

O  we  buried  him  there  on  the  lone  prairie 
Where  the  wild  rose  blooms  and  the  wind  blows  free, 
O  his  pale  young  face  nevermore  to  see, — 
For  we  buried  him  there  on  the  lone  prairie. 

Yes,  we  buried  him  there  on  the  lone  prairie 
Where  the  owl  all  night  hoots  mournfully, 

5 


The  Dying  Cowboy 

And  the  blizzard  beats  and  the  winds  blow  free 
O'er  his  lowly  grave  on  the  lone  prairie. 

And  the  cowboys  now  as  they  roam  the  plain, — 
For  they  marked  the  spot  where  his  bones  were 

lain, — 

Fling  a  handful  of  roses  o'er  his  grave, 
With  a  prayer  to  Him  who  his  soul  will  save. 

"  O  bury  me  not  on  the  lone  prairie 
Where  the  wolves  can  howl  and  growl  o'er  me; 
Fling  a  handful  of  roses  o'er  my  grave 
With  a  prayer  to  Him  who  my  soul  will  save." 


6 


The  Dying  Cowboy 


"0       bu  -  ry      me  not        on  the  lone  prai  -  rie," 


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The  Dying  Cowboy— Concluded 


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1 

t^=H 

THE  DAYS  OF  FORTY-NINE 

WE  are  gazing  now  on  old  Tom  Moore, 
A  relic  of  bygone  days ; 
'Tis  a  bummer,  too,  they  call  me  now, 
But  what  cares  I  for  praise? 
It's  oft,  says  I,  for  the  days  gone  by, 
It's  oft  do  I  repine 

For  the  days  of  old  when  we  dug  out  the  gold 
In  those  days  of  Forty-Nine. 

My  comrades  they  all  loved  me  well, 

The  jolly,  saucy  crew; 

A  few  hard  cases,  I  will  admit, 

Though  they  were  brave  and  true. 

Whatever  the  pinch,  they  ne'er  would  flinch; 

They  never  would  fret  nor  whine, 

Like  good  old  bricks  they  stood  the  kicks 

In  the  days  of  Forty-Nine. 

There's  old  "  Aunt  Jess,"  that  hard  old  cuss, 
Who  never  would  repent; 
He  never  missed  a  single  meal, 
Nor  never  paid  a  cent. 
But  old  "  Aunt  Jess,"  like  all  the  rest, 
At  death  he  did  resign, 
And  in  his  bloom  went  up  the  flume 
In  the  days  of  Forty-Nine. 

9 


The  Days  of  Forty-Nine 

There  is  Ragshag  Jim,  the  roaring  man, 

Who  could  out-roar  a  buffalo,  you  bet, 

He  roared  all  day  and  he  roared  all  night, 

And  I  guess  he  is  roaring  yet. 

One  night  Jim  fell  in  a  prospect  hole, — 

It  was  a  roaring  bad  design, — 

And  in  that  hole  Jim  roared  out  his  soul 

In  the  days  of  Forty-Nine. 

There  is  Wylie  Bill,  the  funny  man, 

Who  was  full  of  funny  tricks, 

And  when  he  was  in  a  poker  game 

He  was  always  hard  as  bricks. 

He  would  ante  you  a  stud,  he  would  play  you  a  draw, 

He'd  go  you  a  hatful  blind, — 

In  a  struggle  with  death  Bill  lost  his  breath 

In  the  days  of  Forty-Nine. 

There  was  New  York  Jake,  the  butcher  boy, 

Who  was  fond  of  getting  tight. 

And  every  time  he  got  on  a  spree 

He  was  spoiling  for  a  fight. 

One  night  Jake  rampaged  against  a  knife 

In  the  hands  of  old  Bob  Sine, 

And  over  Jake  they  held  a  wake 

In  the  days  of  Forty-Nine. 

There  was  Monte  Pete,  I'll  ne'er  forget 
The  luck  he  always  had, 
He  would  deal  for  you  both  day  and  night 

10 


The  Days  of  Forty-Nine 

Or  as  long  as  he  had  a  scad. 

It  was  a  pistol  shot  that  lay  Pete  out, 

It  was  his  last  resign, 

And  it  caught  Pete  dead  sure  in  the  door 

In  the  days  of  Forty-Nine. 

Of  all  the  comrades  that  I've  had 

There's  none  that's  left  to  boast, 

And  I  am  left  alone  in  my  misery 

Like  some  poor  wandering  ghost. 

And  as  I  pass  from  town  to  town, 

They  call  me  the  rambling  sign, 

Since  the  days  of  old  and  the  days  of  gold 

And  the  days  of  Forty-Nine. 


ii 


Days  of  Forty-Nine 


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Days  of  Forty-Nine— Continued 


oft,  says      I,      for 


by,     It's   oft      do      I        re 


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Days  of  Forty  -Nine—  Concluded 


dug     out  the  gold,      In    the    days     of    For  -    ty  -  nine. 


i 


*-v 


JOE  BOWERS 

MY  name  is  Joe  Bowers, 
I've  got  a  brother  Ike, 
I  came  here  from  Missouri, 
Yes,  all  the  way  from  Pike. 
I'll  tell  you  why  I  left  there 
And  how  I  came  to  roam, 
And  leave  my  poor  old  mammy, 
So  far  away  from  home. 

I  used  to  love  a  gal  there, 
Her  name  was  Sallie  Black, 
I  asked  her  for  to  marry  me, 
She  said  it  was  a  whack. 
She  says  to  me,  "  Joe  Bowers, 
.Before  you  hitch  for  life, 
You  ought  to  have  a  little  home 
To  keep  your  little  wife." 

Says  I,  "  My  dearest  Sallie, 
O  Sallie,  for  your  sake, 
I'll  go  to  California 
And  try  to  raise  a  stake." 
Says  she  to  me,  "  Joe  Bowers, 
You  are  the  chap  to  win, 
Give  me  a  kiss  to  seal  the  bargain,"- 
And  I  throwed  a  dozen  in. 
15 


Joe  Bowers 

I'll  never  forget  my  feelings 

When  I  bid  adieu  to  all. 

Sal,  she  cotched  me  round  the  neck 

And  I  began  to  bawl. 

When  I  begun  they  all  commenced, 

You  never  heard  the  like, 

How  they  all  took  on  and  cried 

The  day  I  left  old  Pike. 

When  I  got  to  this  here  country 

I  hadn't  nary  a  red, 

I  had  such  wolfish  feelings 

I  wished  myself  most  dead. 

At  last  I  went  to  mining, 

Put  in  my  biggest  licks, 

Came  down  upon  the  boulders 

Just  like  a  thousand  bricks. 

I  worked  both  late  and  early 
In  rain  and  sun  and  snow, 
But  I  was  working  for  my  Sallie 
So  'twas  all  the  same  to  Joe. 
I  made  a  very  lucky  strike 
As  the  gold  itself  did  tell, 
For  I  was  working  for  my  Sallie, 
The  girl  I  loved  so  well. 

But  one  day  I  got  a  letter 
From  my  dear,  kind  brother  Ike ; 
It  came  from  old  Missouri, 
Yes,  all  the  way  from  Pike. 
16 


Joe  Bowers 

It  told  me  the  goldarndest  news 
That  ever  you  did  hear, 
My  heart  it  is  a-bustin' 
So  please  excuse  this  tear. 

I'll  tell  you  what  it  was,  boys, 
You'll  bust  your  sides  I  know; 
For  when  I  read  that  letter 
You  ought  to  seen  poor  Joe. 
My  knees  gave  'way  beneath  me, 
And  I  pulled  out  half  my  hair; 
And  if  you  ever  tell  this  now, 
You  bet  you'll  hear  me  swear. 

It  said  my  Sallie  was  fickle, 

Her  love  for  me  had  fled, 

That  she  had  married  a  butcher, 

Whose  hair  was  awful  red; 

It  told  me  more  than  that, 

It's  enough  to  make  me  swear, — 

It  said  that  Sallie  had  a  baby 

And  the  baby  had  red  hair. 

Now  I've  told  you  all  that  I  can  tell 

About  this  sad  affair, 

'Bout  Sallie  marrying  the  butcher 

And  the  baby  had  red  hair. 

But  whether  it  was  a  boy  or  girl 

The  letter  never  said, 

It  only  said  its  cussed  hair 

Was  inclined  to  be  red. 


THE  COWBOY'S  DREAM  * 

LAST  night  as  I  lay  on  the  prairie, 
And  looked  at  the  stars  in  the  sky, 
I  wondered  if  ever  a  cowboy 
Would  drift  to  that  sweet  by  and  by. 


JKOH  on,  roll  on; 

Roll  on,  little  dogies,  roll  on,  roll  on, 

Roll  on,  roll  on; 

Roll  on,  little  dogies,  roll  on. 


The  road  to  that  bright,  happy  region 
Is  a  dim,  narrow  trail,  so  they  say; 
But  the  broad  one  that  leads  to  perdition 
Is  posted  and  blazed  all  the  way. 

They  say  there  will  be  a  great  round-up, 
And  cowboys,  like  dogies,  will  stand, 
To  be  marked  by  the  Riders  of  Judgment 
Who  are  posted  and  know  every  brand. 

I  know  there's  many  a  stray  cowboy 
Who'll  be  lost  at  the  great,  final  sale, 
When  he  might  have  gone  in  the  green  pastures 
Had  he  known  of  the  dim,  narrow  trail. 

*  Sung  to  the  air  of  My  Bonnie  Lies  Over  the  Ocean. 

18 


The  Cowboy's  Dream 

I  wonder  if  ever  a  cowboy 
Stood  ready  for  that  Judgment  Day, 
And  could  say  to  tfie  Boss  of  the  Riders, 
"I'm  ready,  come  drive  me  away." 

For  they,  like  tKe  cows  that  are  locoed, 
Stampede  at  the  sight  of  a  hand, 
Are  dragged  with  a  rope  to  the  round-up, 
Or  get  marked  with  some  crooked  man's  brand. 

And  I'm  scared  that  I'll  be  a  stray  yearling, — 
A  maverick,  unbranded  on  high, — 
And  get  cut  in  the  bunch  with  the  "  rustics  " 
When  the  Boss  of  the  Riders  goes  by. 

For  they  tell  of  another  big  owner 
Whose  ne'er  overstocked,  so  they  say, 
But  who  always  makes  room  for  the  sinner 
Who  drifts  from  the  straight,  narrow  way. 

They  say  he  will  never  forget  you, 
That  he  knows  every  action  and  look; 
So,  for  safety,  you'd  better  get  branded, 
Have  your  name  in  the  great  Tally  Book. 


THE  COWBOY'S  LIFE  * 

THE  bawl  of  a  steer, 
To  a  cowboy's  ear, 
Is  music  of  sweetest  strain; 
And  the  yelping  notes 
Of  the  gray  cayotes 
To  him  are  a  glad  refrain. 

And  his  jolly  songs 

Speed  him  along, 

As  he  thinks  of  the  little  gal 

With  golden  hair 

Who  is  waiting  there 

At  the  bars  of  the  home  corral. 

For  a  kingly  crown 

In  the  noisy  town 

His  saddle  he  wouldn't  change; 

No  life  so  free 

As  the  life  we  see 

Way  out  on  the  Yaso  range. 

His  eyes  are  bright 

And  his  heart  as  light 

As  the  smoke  of  his  cigarette; 

There's  never  a  care 

*  Attributed  to  James  Barton  Adams. 

20 


The  Cowboy's  Life 

For  his  soul  to  bear, 

No  trouble  to  make  him  fret, 

The  rapid  beat 

Of  his  broncho's  feet 

On  the  sod  as  he  speeds  along, 

Keeps  living  time 

To  the  ringing  rhyme 

Of  his  rollicking  cowboy  song. 

Hike  It,  cowboys, 

For  the  range  away 

On  the  back  of  a  bronc  of  steel, 

With  a  careless  flirt 

Of  the  raw-hide  quirt 

And  a  dig  of  a  roweled  heel  1 

The  winds  may  blow 

And  the  thunder  growl 

Or  the  breezes  may  safely  moan; 

A  cowboy's  life 

Is  a  royal  life, 

His  saddle  his  kingly  throne. 

Saddle  up,  boys, 

For  the  work  is  play 

When  love's  in  the  cowboy's  eyes,- 

When  his  heart  is  light 

As  the  clouds  of  white 

That  swim  in  the  summer  skies. 


21 


THE  KANSAS  LINE 

GOME  all  you  jolly  cowmen,  don't  you  want  to 
go 

Way  up  on  the  Kansas  line? 
Where  you  whoop  up  the  cattle  from  morning  till 

night 
All  out  in  the  midnight  rain. 

The  cowboy's  life  is  a  dreadful  life, 

He's  driven  through  heat  and  cold; 

I'm  almost  froze  with  the  water  on  my  clothes, 

A-ridin'  through  heat  and  cold. 

I've  been  where  the  lightnin',  the  lightnin'  tangled 

in  my  eyes, 

The  cattle  I  could  scarcely  hold; 
Think  I  heard  my  boss  man  say: 
"  I  want  all  brave-hearted  men  who  ain't  afraid  to 

die 

To  whoop  up  the  cattle  from  morning  till  night, 
Way  up  on  the  Kansas  line." 

Speaking  of  your  farms  and  your  shanty  charms, 

Speaking  of  your  silver  and  gold, — 

Take  a  cowman's  advice,  go  and  marry  you  a  true 

and  lovely  little  wife, 
Never  to  roam,  always  stay  at  home; 

22 


The  Kansas  Line 

That's  a  cowman's,  a  cowman's  advice, 
Way  up  on  the  Kansas  line. 

Think  I  heard  the  noisy  cook  say, 

"  Wake  up,  boys,  it's  near  the  break  of  day," — 

Way  up  on  the  Kansas  line, 

And  slowly  we  will  rise  with  the  sleepy  feeling  eyes, 

Way  up  on  the  Kansas  line. 

The  cowboy's  life  is  a  dreary,  dreary  life, 
All  out  in  the  midnight  rain; 
I'm  almost  froze  with  the  water  on  my  clothes, 
Way  up  on  the  Kansas  line. 


THE  COWMAN'S  PRAYER 

NOW,  O  Lord,  please  lend  me  thine  ear, 
The  prayer  of  a  cattleman  to  hear, 
No  doubt  the  prayers  may  seem  strange, 
But  I  want  you  to  bless  our  cattle  range, 

Bless  the  round-ups  year  by  year, 
And  don't   forget  the   growing  steer; 
Water  the  lands  with  brooks  and  rills 
For  my  cattle  that  roam  on  a  thousand  hills. 

Prairie  fires,  won't  you  please  stop  ? 
Let  thunder  roll  and  water  drop. 
It  frightens  me  to  see  the  smoke ; 
Unless  it's  stopped,  I'll  go  dead  broke. 

As  you,  O  Lord,  my  herd  behold, 

It  represents  a  sack  of  gold; 

I  think  at  least  five  cents  a  pound 

Will  be  the  price  of  beef  the  year  around. 

One  thing  more  and  then  I'm  through, — 
Instead  of  one  calf,  give  my  cows  two. 
I  may  pray  different  from  other  men 
But  I've  had  my  say,  and  now,  Amen. 


THE  MINER'S  SONG  * 

IN  a  rusty,  worn-out  cabin  sat  a  broken-hearted 
leaser, 

His  singlejack  was  resting  on  his  knee. 
His  old  "  buggy  "  in  the  corner  told  the  same  old 

plaintive  tale, 

His  ore  had  left  in  all  his  poverty. 
He  lifted  his  old  singlejack,  gazed  on  its  battered 

face, 

And  said:  "  Old  boy,  I  know  we're  not  to  blame; 
Our  gold  has  us  forsaken,  some  other  path  it's  taken, 
But  I  still  believe  we'll  strike  it  just  the  same. 

"  We'll  strike  it,  yes,  we'll  strike  it  just  the  same, 

Although  it's  gone  into  some  other's  claim. 

My  dear  old  boy  don't  mind  it,  we  won't  starve 

if  we  don't  find  it, 
And  we'll  drill  and  shoot  and  find  it  just  the  same. 

"  For  forty  years  I've  hammered  steel  and  tried  to 

make  a  strike, 

I've  burned  twice  the  powder  Custer  ever  saw. 
I've  made  just  coin  enough  to  keep  poorer  than  a 

snake. 
My  jack's  ate  all  my  books  on  mining  law. 

*  Printed  as  a  fugitive  ballad  in  Grandon  of  Sierra,  by  Charles 
E.  Winter. 

25 


The  Miners  Song 

I've  worn  gunny-sacks  for  overalls,  and  *  California 

socks/ 
I've  burned  candles  that  would  reach  from  here  to 

Maine, 
IVe  lived  on  powder,  smoke,  and  bacon,  that's  no 

lie,  boy,  I'm  not  fakin', 
But  I  still  believe  we'll  strike  it  just  the  same. 

"  Last  night  as  I  lay  sleeping  in  the  midst  of  all  my 

dream 

My  assay  ran  six  ounces  clear  in  gold, 
And  the  silver  it  ran  clean  sixteen  ounces  to  the 

seam, 

And  the  poor  old  miner's  joy  could  scarce  be  told. 
I  lay  there,  boy,  I  could  not  sleep,  I  had  a  feverish 

brow, 

Got  up,  went  back,  and  put  in  six  holes  more. 
And  then,  boy,  I  was  chokin'  just  to  see  the  ground 

I'd  broken; 
But  alas !  alas !  the  miner's  dream  was  o'er. 

"  We'll  strike  it,  yes,  we'll  strike  it  just  the  same, 

Although  it's  gone  into  some  other's  claim. 

My  dear  old  boy,  don't  mind  it,  we  won't  starve 

if  we  don't  find  it, 
And  I  still  believe  I'll  strike  it  just  the  same." 


26 


JESSE  JAMES 

JESSE  JAMES  was  a  lad  that  killed  a-many  a  man ; 
He  robbed  the  Danville  train. 
But  that  dirty  little  coward  that  shot  Mr.  Howard 
Has  laid  poor  Jesse  in  his  grave. 

Poor  Jesse  had  a  wife  to  mourn  for  his  life, 

Three  children,  they  were  brave. 

But   that    dirty   little    coward    that    shot    Mr. 

Howard 
Has  laid  poor  Jesse  in  his  grave. 

It  was  Robert  Ford,  that  dirty  little  coward, 

I  wonder  how  he  does  feel, 

For  he  ate  of  Jesse's  bread  and  he  slept  in  Jesse's  bed, 

Then  laid  poor  Jesse  in  his  grave. 

Jesse  was  a  man,  a  friend  to  the  poor, 

He  never  would  see  a  man  suffer  pain ; 

And  with  his  brother  Frank  he  robbed  the  Chicago 

bank, 
And  stopped  the  Glendale  train. 

It  was  his  brother  Frank  that  robbed  the  Gallatin 

bank, 

And  carried  the  money  from  the  town ; 
It  was  in  this  very  place  that  they  had  a  little  race, 
For  they  shot  Captain  Sheets  to  the  ground. 

27 


Jesse  James 

They  went  to  the  crossing  not  very  far  from  there, 
And  there  they  did  the  same ; 

With  the  agent  on  his  knees,  he  delivered  up  the  keys 
To  the  outlaws,  Frank  and  Jesse  James. 

It  was  on  Wednesday  night,  the  moon  was  shining 

bright, 

They  robbed  the  Glendale  train ; 
The  people  they  did  say,  for  many  miles  away, 
It  was  robbed  by  Frank  and  Jesse  James. 

It  was  on  Saturday  night,  Jesse  was  at  home 
Talking  with  his  family  brave, 
Robert  Ford  came  along  like  a  thief  in  the  night 
And  laid  poor  Jesse  in  his  grave. 

The  people  held  their  breath  when  they  heard  of 

Jesse's  death, 

And  wondered  how  he  ever  came  to  die. 
It  was  one  of  the  gang  called  little  Robert  Ford, 
He  shot  poor  Jesse  on  the  sly. 

Jesse  went  to  his  rest  with  his  hand  on  his  breast; 

The  devil  will  be  upon  his  knee. 

He  was  born  one  day  in  the  county  of  Clay 

And  came  from  a  solitary  race. 

This  song  was  made  by  Billy  Gashade, 
As  soon  as  the  news  did  arrive; 
He  said  there  was  no  man  with  the  law  in  his  hand 
Who  could  take  Jesse  James  when  alive. 

28 


Jesse  James 


£ 


e 


$ 


Jes  -  se  James  was     a     lad       that  killed    a  -  ma  -  ny     a 


e 


^ 


man;        He  robbed  the      Dan  -  ville     train; 


But  that 

I        N     -, 


i 


a== 


3T 


i 


$ 


dirt  -  y       lit  -  tie     cow  -  ard        that    shot     Mis-ter 


Jesse  James—  Continued 


F* 

Ht  

j  —  h 

i  =  —  tr~Rr^  —  rrr~T  1 

fi 

f^*- 

*         f       f      9      4      •  .    m    { 

i  U  

--^W- 

How  -  ard  Has     laid      poor       Jes  -  se    in     the  grave. 


REFRAIN. 


i-^ft—  r-i 

1          h        x 

—  ^  £  /•—  s  1 

U     U      L/  1 

>  —  

3  —  ^  .  «n  J 

Poor     Jes  -  se    had       a    wife       to  mourn    for     his     life. 


-* 


4'          ^ 

|V^^'  '                    2 

•^                  •)         •s- 

Three      chil  -  dren,     they     were    brave;  But    that 


Jesse  lames— Concluded 


-T-ff  j'N-E^E3E 

>^ s  ^  0 


dir  -  ty       lit  -  tie     cow  -  ard        That    shot    Mis  -  ter 


K#-            -*- 

—  ^  — 

-T|  *- 

ffS  

N      N      ^        N                       i 

E 

•--  ^  

-p  —  J*—J*—*—I  —  J5- 

«  H 

How-  ard  Has     laid      poor       Jes  -  se    in     the  grave. 


IE 


I 


1 


POOR  LONESOME  COWBOY 

I  AIN'T  got  no  father, 
I  ain't  got  no  father, 
I  ain't  got  no  father, 
To  buy  the  clothes  I  wear. 

I'm  a  poor,  lonesome  cowboy, 
I'm  a  poor,  lonesome  cowboy, 
I'm  a  poor,  lonesome  cowboy 
And  a  long  ways  from  home. 

I  ain't  got  no  mother, 

I  ain't  got  no  mother, 

I  ain't  got  no  mother 

To  mend  the  clothes  I  wear. 

I  ain't  got  no  sister, 
I  ain't  got  no  sister, 
I  ain't  got  no  sister 
To  go  and  play  with  me. 

I  ain't  got  no  brother, 
I  ain't  got  no  brother, 
I  ain't  got  no  brother 
To  drive  the  steers  with  me. 


Poor  Lonesome  Cowboy 

I  ain't  got  no  sweetheart, 
I  ain't  got  no  sweetheart, 
I  ain't  got  no  sweetheart 
To  sit  and  talk  with  me. 

I'm  a  poor,  lonesome  cowboy, 
I'm  a  poor,  lonesome  cowboy, 
I'm  a  poor,  lonesome  cowboy 
And  a  long  ways  from  home. 


33 


BUENA  VISTA  BATTLEFIELD 

ON  Buena  Vista  battlefield 
A  dying  soldier  lay, 

His  thoughts  were  on  his  mountain  home 
Some  thousand  miles  away. 
He  called  his  comrade  to  his  side, 
For  much  he  had  to  say, 
In  briefest  words  to  those  who  were 
Some  thousand  miles  away. 

"  My  father,  comrade,  you  will  tell 
About  this  bloody  fray; 
My  country's  flag,  you'll  say  to  him, 
Was  safe  with  me  to-day. 
I  make  a  pillow  of  it  now 
On  which  to  lay  my  head, 
A  winding  sheet  you'll  make  of  it 
When  I  am  with  the  dead. 

14 1  know  'twill  grieve  his  inmost  soul 
To  think  I  never  more 
Will  sit  with  him  beneath  the  oak 
That  shades  the  cottage  door; 
But  tell  that  time-worn  patriot, 
That,  mindful  of  his  fame, 
Upon  this  bloody  battlefield 
I  sullied  not  his  name. 

34 


Buena  Vista  Battlefield 

"  My  mother's  form  is  with  me  now, 
Her  will  is  in  my  ear, 
And  drop  by  drop  as  flows  my  blood 
So  flows  from  her  the  tear. 
And  oh,  when  you  shall  tell  to  her 
The  tidings  of  this  day, 
Speak  softly,  comrade,  softly  speak 
What  you  may  have  to  say. 

"  Speak  not  to  her  in  blighting  words 
The  blighting  news  you  bear, 
The  cords  of  life  might  snap  too  soon, 
So,  comrade,  have  a  care. 
I  am  her  only,  cherished  child, 
But  tell  her  that  I  died 
Rejoicing  that  she  taught  me  young 
To  take  my  country's  side. 

"  But,  comrade,  there's  one  more, 
She's  gentle  as  a  fawn; 
She  lives  upon  the  sloping  hill 
That  overlooks  the  lawn, 
The  lawn  where  I  shall  never  more 
Go  forth  with  her  in  merry  mood 
To  gather  wild-wood  flowers. 

'  Tell  her  when  death  was  on  my  brow 
And  life  receding  fast, 
Her  looks,  her  form  was  with  me  then, 
Were  with  me  to  the  last. 

35 


Piftm  BmtdefeU 

Tata's  bloody  fidd 
df^fcy* 

mOcs 


WESTWARD  HO 

I  LOVE  not  Colorado 
Where  the  faro  tabk  grows, 
And  down  the  desperado 

_"  „_,,!•«.-_  p m .  «^_ 

ippling  ifouiDon  BOWS; 


Nor  seek  I  fair  M 
Of  towie-hmging  fame; 
The  pistol  ring  of  fair  W 
I  leave  to  nobler 


In  Tain  allures  the  eye: 
The  Nevada  rough  has 

'V*' _..    *,      i_i 1" i lii. 1 1  m^mm    f    U 

ICC  ItS  iHJIMJHniiM  ••!  1  mY. 


Shall  Arizona  woo 
Where  the  meek 


With  arrow-proof  insides  ? 

Nay.  'tis  where  the  grizzft 
And  the  lonely  diggers 

fl\n^|  ttne  jjnm  \Jnnesc  11*^0 
That  IH  make  my 


IH  chase  the  wild  tarantula 
And  the  Sore  caroote  IH  due. 


Westward  Ho 

And  the  locust  grim,  I'll  battle  him 
In  his  native  wildwood  lair. 

Or  I'll  seek  the  gulch  deserted 
And  dream  of  the  wild  Red  man, 
And  Til  build  a  cot  on  a  corner  lot 
And  get  rich  as  soon  as  I  can. 


A  HOME  ON  THE  RANGE 

OH,  give  me  a  home  where  the  buffalo  roam, 
Where  the  deer  and  the  antelope  play, 
Where  seldom  is  heard  a  discouraging  word 
And  the  skies  are  not  cloudy  all  day. 

Home,  home  on  the  range, 
Where  the  deer  and  the  antelope  play; 
Where  seldom  is  heard  a  discouraging  word 
And  the  skies  are  not  cloudy  all  day. 

Where  the  air  is  so  pure,  the  zephyrs  so  free, 
The  breezes  so  balmy  and  light, 
That  I  would  not  exchange  my  home  on  the  range 
For  all  of  the  cities  so  bright. 

The  red  man  was  pressed  from  this  part  of  the 

West, 

He's  likely  no  more  to  return 
To  the  banks  of  Red  River  where  seldom  if  ever 
Their  flickering  camp-fires  burn. 

How  often  at  night  when  the  heavens  are  bright 
With  the  light  from  the  glittering  stars, 
Have  I  stood  here  amazed  and  asked  as  I  gazed 
If  their  glory  exceeds  that  of  ours. 


39 


A  Home  on  the  Range 

Oh,  I  love  these  wild  flowers  in  this  dear  land  of  ours, 
The  curlew  I  love  to  hear  scream, 
And  I  love  the  white  rocks  and  the  antelope  flocks 
That  graze  on  the  mountain-tops  green. 

Oh,  give  me  a  land  where  the  bright  diamond  sand 
Flows  leisurely  down  the  stream; 
Where  the  graceful  white  swan  goes  gliding  along 
Like  a  maid  in  a  heavenly  dream. 

Then  I  would  not  exchange  my  home  on  the  range, 
Where  the  deer  and  the  antelope  play ; 
Where  seldom  is  heard  a  discouraging  word 
And  the  skies  are  not  cloudy  all  day. 

Home,  home  on  the  range, 
Where  the  deer  and  the  antelope  play; 
Where  seldom  is  heard  a  discouraging  word 
And  the  skies  are  not  cloudy  all  day. 


Home  on  the  Range 


*3^ 


• 


Oh,  give  me      a    home  where  the  buf  -  f a  -  lo    roam, 


}'  •  f\ 


H 


((•)•  fr-  ( 

} 

fl    •                          x»    • 

"1  a  1 

}  

i                               ^ 

i= 

5. 


Where  the  deer        and    the    an    -    te  -  lope     play; 


m 


I 


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^ 


it=i: 


Where  sel  -  dom      is    heard       a    dis-cour-    ag- ing  word 


as 


rT^T 


7 1 

•!>      ^ 

^" 


Home  on  the  Range— Continued 


bte 

—  *  w— 

i  —  Pv  — 

—  -_ 

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ft     j1- 

—  1  

1 

And  the  skies       are  not   cloud    -    y     all     day. 


q  -  2j 


m 


REFRAIN 


m 


m 


Home,home  on  the  range,  Where  the  deer  and  the  antelope  play; 


-*- *• 


'  *l   1 


^^^^^7 


? 


Where  sel-  dom    is  heard       a      dis-cour  -  ag  -  ing    word 


f 


Home  on  the  Range—  Concluded 


$ 


*=£ 


^ 


<^-v 
And  the  skies     are     not  cloud  -  y       all     day. 


S^=U.         j 

"^" 


^r 


TEXAS  RANGERS 

GOME,    all  you   Texas  rangers,   wherever  you 
may  be, 

I'll  tell  you  of  some  troubles  that  happened  unto  me. 
My  name  is  nothing  extra,  so  it  I  will  not  tell, — 
And  here's  to  all  you  rangers,  I  am  sure  I  wish  you 
well. 

It  was  at  the  age  of  sixteen  that  I  joined  the  jolly 

band, 
We  marched  from  San  Antonio  down  to  the  Rio 

Grande. 
Our  captain  he  informed  us,  perhaps  he  thought  it 

right, 
"  Before  we  reach  the  station,  boys,  you'll  surely  have 

to  fight." 

And  when  the  bugle  sounded  our  captain  gave  com- 
mand, 

''  To  arms,  to  arms,"  he  shouted,  "  and  by  your 
horses  stand." 

I  saw  the  smoke  ascending,  it  seemed  to  reach  the 
sky; 

The  first  thought  that  struck  me,  my  time  had  come 
to  die. 

I  saw  the  Indians  coming,  I  heard  them  give  the  yell ; 
My  feelings  at  that  moment,  no  tongue  can  ever  tell. 

4-r 


Texas  Rangers 

I  saw  the  glittering  lances,  their  arrows  round  me 

flew, 
And  all  my  strength  it  left  me  and  all  my  courage  too. 

We  fought  full  nine  hours  before  the  strife  was  o'er, 
The  like  of  dead  and  wounded  I  never  saw  before. 
And  when  the  sun  was  rising  and  the  Indians  they 

had  fled, 
We  loaded  up  our  rifles  and  counted  up  our  dead. 

And  all  of  us  were  wounded,  our  noble  captain  slain, 
And  the  sun  was  shining  sadly  across  the  bloody 

plain. 

Sixteen  as  brave  rangers  as  ever  roamed  the  West 
Were  buried  by  their  comrades  with  arrows  in  their 

breast. 

Twas  then  I  thought  of  mother,  who  to  me  in  tears 

did  say, 
"  To  you  they  are  all  strangers,  with  me  you  had 

better  stay." 
I  thought  that  she  was  childish,  the  best  she  did  not 

know; 
My  mind  was  fixed  on  ranging  and  I  was  bound 

to  go. 

\ 

Perhaps  you  have  a  mother,  likewise  a  sister  too, 
And  maybe  you  have  a  sweetheart  to  weep  and  mourn 
for  you ; 


45 


Texas  Rangers 

If  that  be  your  situation,  although  you'd  like  to  roam, 
I'd  advise  you  by  experience,  you  had  better  stay  at 
home. 

I  have  seen  the  fruits  of  rambling,  I  know  its  hard- 
ships well ; 

I  have  crossed  the  Rocky  Mountains,  rode  down  the 
streets  of  hell; 

I  have  been  in  the  great  Southwest  where  the  wild 
Apaches  roam, 

And  I  tell  you  from  experience  you  had  better  stay 
at  home. 

And  now  my  song  is  ended;  I  guess  I  have  sung 

enough ; 

The  life  of  a  ranger  I  am  sure  is  very  tough. 
And  here's  to  all  you  ladies,  I  am  sure  I  wish  you 

well, 
I  am  bound  to  go  a-ranging,  so  ladies,  fare  you  well. 


THE  MORMON  BISHOPS  LAMENT 

I  AM  a  Mormon  bishop  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I 
know. 

I  joined  the  confraternity  some  forty  years  ago. 
I  then  had  youth  upon  my  brow  and  eloquence  my 

tongue, 

But  I  had  the  sad  misfortune  then  to  meet  with 
Brigham  Young. 

He  said,  "  Young  man,  come  join  our  band  and  bid 

hard  work  farewell, 
You  are  too  smart  to  waste  your  time  in  toil  by  hill 

and  dell; 
There  is  a  ripening  harvest  and  our  hooks  shall  find 

the  fool 
And  in  the  distant  nations  we  shall  train  them  in 

our  school." 

I  listened  to  his  preaching  and  I  learned  all  the  role, 
And  the  truth  of  Mormon  doctrines  burned  deep 

within  my  soul. 

I  married  sixteen  women  and  I  spread  my  new  belief, 
I  was  sent  to  preach  the  gospel  to  the  pauper  and 

the  thief. 

'Twas  in  the  glorious  days  when  Brigham  was  our 
only  Lord  and  King, 
47 


The  M.ormon  Bishop's  Lament 

And  his  wild  cry  of  defiance  from  the  Wasatch  tops 

did  ring. 
'Twas    when    that    bold    Bill    Hickman    and    that 

Porter  Rockwell  led, 
And  in  the  blood  atonements  the  pits  received  the 

dead. 

They  took  in  Dr.  Robertson  and  left  him  in  his 

gore, 
And  the  Aiken  brothers  sleep  in  peace  on  Nephi's 

distant  shore. 
We  marched  to  Mountain  Meadows  and  on  that 

glorious  field 
With   rifle    and   with   hatchet   we  made   man   and 

woman  yield. 

'Twas  there  we  were  victorious  with  our  legions 
fierce  and  brave. 

We  left  the  butchered  victims  on  the  ground  without 
a  grave. 

We  slew  the  load  of  emigrants  on  Sublet's  lonely 
road 

And  plundered  many  a  trader  of  his  then  most  pre- 
cious load. 

Alas  for  all  the  powers  that  were  in  the  by-gone 

time. 
What  we  did  as  deeds  of  glory  are  condemned  as 

bloody  crime. 


The  Mormon  Bishop's  Lament 

No  more  the  blood  atonements  keep  the  doubting 

one  in  fear, 
While  the  faithful  were  rewarded  with  a  wedding 

once  a  year. 

As  the  nation's  chieftain  president  says  our  days  of 

rule  are  o'er 
And  his  marshals  with  their  warrants  are  on  watch 

at  every  door, 
Old  John  he  now  goes  skulking  on  the  by-roads  of 

our  land, 
Or  unknown  he  keeps  in  hiding  with  the  faithful  of 

our  band. 

Old  Brigham  now  is  stretched  beneath  the  cold  and 

silent  clay, 
And  the  chieftains  now  are  fallen  that  were  mighty 

in  their  day; 
Of  the  six  and  twenty  women  that  I  wedded  long 

ago 
There  are  two  now  left  to  cheer  me  in  these  awful 

hours  of  woe. 
The  rest   are  scattered  where  the  Gentile's   flag's 

unfurled 
And  two  score  of  my  daughters  are  now  numbered 

with  the  world. 

Oh,  my  poor  old  bones  are  aching  and  my  head  is 
turning  gray; 


49 


The  Mormon  Bishop's  Lament 

Oh,  the  scenes  were  black  and  awful  that  IVe  wit- 
nessed in  my  day. 

Let  my  spirit  seek  the  mansion  where  old  Brigham's 
gone  to  dwell, 

For  there's  no  place  for  Mormons  but  the  lowest 
pits  of  hell. 


50 


DAN  TAYLOR 

DAN  TAYLOR  is  a  rollicking  cuss, 
A  frisky  son  of  a  gun, 
He  loves  to  court  the  maidens 
And  he  savies  how  it's  done. 

He  used  to  be  a  cowboy 
And  they  say  he  wasn't  slow, 
He  could  ride  the  bucking  bronco 
And  swing  the  long  lasso. 

He  could  catch  a  maverick  by  the  head 
Or  heel  him  on  the  fly, 
He  could  pick  up  his  front  ones 
Whenever  he  chose  to  try. 

He  used  to  ride:  most  anything; 
Now  he  seldom  will. 
He  says  they  cut  some  caper  in  the  air 
Of  which  he's  got  his  fill. 

x-" 

He  is  done  and  quit  the  business, 
Settled  down  to  quiet  life, 
And  he's  hunting  for  some  maiden 
Who  will  be  his  little  wife, — 


Dan   Taylor 

One  who  will  wash  and  patch  his  britches 
And  feed  the  setting  hen, 
Milk  old  Blue  and  Brindy, 
And  tend  to  baby  Ben. 

Then  he'll  build   a   cozy  cottage 
And  furnish  it  complete, 
He'll  decorate  the  walls  inside 
With  pictures  new  and  sweet. 

He  will  leave  off  riding  broncos 
And  be  a  different  man; 
He  will  do  his  best  to  please  his  wife 
In  every  way  he  can. 

Then  together  in  double  harness 
They  will  trot  along  down  the  line, 
Until  death  shall  call  them  over 
To  a  bright  and  sunny  clime. 

May  your  joys  be  then   completed 
And  your  sorrows  have  amend, 
Is  the  fondest  wish  of  the  writer, — 
Your  true  and  faithful  friend. 


WHEN  WORK  IS  DONE  THIS  FALL 

A  GROUP  of  jolly  cowboys,  discussing  plans  at 
ease, 
Says  one,  "  I'll  tell  you  something,  boys,  if  you  will 

listen,  please. 
I  am  an  old  cow-puncher  and  here  I'm  dressed  in 

rags, 

And  I  used  to  be  a  tough  one  and  take  on  great  big 
jags. 

"  But  I've  got  a  home,  boys,  a  good  one,  you  all 

know, 

Although  I  have  not  seen  it  since  long,  long  ago. 
I'm  going  back  to  Dixie  once  more  to  see  them  all; 
Yes,  I'm  going  to  see  my  mother  when  the  work's 

all  done  this  fall. 

"  After  the  round-ups  are  over  and  after  the  ship- 
ping is  done, 

I  am  going  right  straight  home,  boys,  ere  all  my 
money  is  gone. 

I  have  changed  my  ways,  boys,  no  more  will  I  fall ; 

And  I  am  going  home,  boys,  when  work  is  done 
this  fall. 

"  When  I  left  home,  boys,  my  mother  for  me  cried, 
Begged  me  not  to  go,  boys,  for  me  she  would  have 
died; 

53 


When  Work  Is  Done  This  Fall 

My  mother's  heart  is  breaking,  breaking   for  me, 

that's  all, 
And  with  God's  help  I'll  see  her  when  the  work's  all 

done  this  fall." 

That  very  night  this  cowboy  went  out  to  stand  his 

guard; 
The  night  was  dark  and  cloudy  and  storming  very 

hard; 
The  cattle  they  got  frightened  and  rushed  in  wild 

stampede, 
The  cowboy  tried  to  head  them,  riding  at  full  speed. 

While  riding  in  the  darkness  so  loudly  did  he  shout, 
Trying  his  best  to  head  them  and  turn  the  herd  about, 
His  saddle  horse  did  stumble  and  on  him  did  fall, 
The  poor  boy  won't  see  his  mother  when  the  work's 
all  done  this  fall. 

His  body  was  so  mangled  the  boys  all  thought  him 

dead, 

They  picked  him  up  so  gently  and  laid  him  on  a  bed ; 
He    opened   wide   his   blue    eyes    and   looking   all 

around 
He  motioned  to  his  comrades  to  sit  near  him  on  the 

ground. 

"  Boys,  send  mother  my  wages,  the  wages  I  have 

earned, 

For  I'm  afraid,  boys,  my  last  steer  I  have  turned. 

54 


When  Work  Is  Done  This  Fall 

I'm  going  to  a  new  range,  I  hear  my  Master's  call, 
And  I'll  not  see  my  mother  when  the  work's  all 
done  this  fall. 

"  Fred,  you  take  my  saddle;  George,  you  take  my 

bed; 

Bill,  you  take  my  pistol  after  I  am  dead, 
And  think  of  me  kindly  when  you  look  upon  them 

all, 
For  I'll  not  see  my  mother  when  work  is  done  this 

fall." 

Poor  Charlie  was  buried  at  sunrise,  no  tombstone  at 

his  head, 

Nothing  but  a  little  board  and  this  is  what  it  said, 
"  Charlie  died  at  daybreak,  he  died  from  a  fall, 
And  he'll  not  see  his  mother  when  the  work's  all 

done  this  fall." 


55 


SIOUX  INDIANS 

TLL  sing  you  a  song,  though  it  may  be  a  sad  one, 
Of  trials  and  troubles  and  where  they  first  begun ; 
I  left  my  dear  kindred,  my  friends,  and  my  home, 
Across  the  wild  deserts  and  mountains  to  roam. 

I  crossed  the  Missouri  and  joined  a  large  train 
Which  bore  us  over  mountain  and  valley  and  plain ; 
And  often  of  evenings  out  hunting  we'd  go 
To  shoot  the  fleet  antelope  and  wild  buffalo. 

We  heard  of  Sioux  Indians  all  out  on  the  plains 
A-killing  poor  drivers  and  burning  their  trains, — 
A-killing  poor  drivers  with  arrows  and  bow, 
When  captured  by  Indians  no  mercy  they  show. 

We  traveled  three  weeks  till  we  came  to  the  Platte 
And  pitched  out  our  tents  at  the  end  of  the  flat, 
We  spread  down  our  blankets  on  the  green  grassy 

ground, 
While  our  horses  and  mules  were  grazing  around. 

While  taking  refreshment  we  heard  a  low  yell, 
The  whoop  of  Sioux  Indians  coming  up  from  the  dell ; 
We  sprang  to  our  rifles  with  a  flash  in  each  eye, 
"  Boys,"  says  our  brave  leader,  "  we'll  fight  till  we 
die." 

56 


Sioux  Indians 

They  made  a  bold  dash  and  came  near  to  our  train 
And  the  arrows  fell  around  us  like  hail  and  like  rain, 
But  with  our  long  rifles  we  fed  them  cold  lead 
Till  many  a  brave  warrior  around  us  lay  dead. 

We  shot  their  bold  chief  at  the  head  of  his  band. 
He  died  like  a  warrior  with  a  gun  in  his  hand. 
When  they  saw  their  bold  chief  lying  dead  in  his 

gore, 
They  whooped  and  they  yelled  and  we  saw  them  no 

more. 

With  our  small  band, —  there  were  just  twenty- 
four, — 

And  the  Sioux  Indians  there  were  five  hundred  or 
more, — 

We  fought  them  with  courage ;  we  spoke  not  a  word, 

Till  the  end  of  the  battle  was  all  that  was  heard. 

We  hitched  up  our  horses  and  we  started  our  train; 
Three  more  bloody  battles  this  trip  on  the  plain; 
And  in  our  last  battle  three  of  our  brave  boys  fell, 
And  we  left  them  to  rest  in  a  green,  shady  dell. 


57 


G 


THE  OLD  CHISHOLM  TRAIL 

OME  along,  boys,  and  listen  to  my  tale, 
I'll  tell  you  of  my  troubles  on  the  old  Chis- 
holm  trail. 

Coma  ti  yi  youpy,  youpy  ya,  youpy  ya, 
Coma  ti  yi  youpy,  youpy  ya. 

I  started  up  the  trail  October  twenty-third, 
I  started  up  the  trail  with  the  2-U  herd. 

Oh,  a  ten  dollar  hoss  and  a  forty  dollar  saddle, — 
And  I'm  goin'  to  punchin'  Texas  cattle. 

I  woke  up  one  morning  on  the  old  Chisholm  trail, 
Rope  in  my  hand  and  a  cow  by  the  tail. 

I'm  up  in  the  mornin'  afore  daylight 
And  afore  I  sleep  the  moon  shines  bright. 

Old  Ben  Bolt  was  a  blamed  good  boss, 

But  he'd  go  to  see  the  girls  on  a  sore-backed  hoss. 

Old  Ben  Bolt  was  a  fine  old  man 
And  you'd  know  there  was  whiskey  wherever  he'd 
land. 


58 


The  Old  Chisholm   Trail 

My  hoss  throwed  me  off  at  the  creek  called  Mud, 
My  hoss  throwed  me  off  round  the  2-U  herd. 

Last  time  I  saw  him  he  was  going  cross  the  level 
A-kicking  up  his  heels  and  a-running  like  the  devil. 

It's  cloudy  in  the  West,  a-looking  like  rain, 

And  my  damned  old  slicker's  in  the  wagon  again. 

Crippled  my  hoss,  I  don't  know  how, 
Ropin'  at  the  horns  of  a  2-U  cow. 

We  hit  Caldwell  and  we  hit  her  on  the  fly, 
We  bedded  down  the  cattle  on  the  hill  close  by. 

No  chaps,  no  slicker,  and  it's  pouring  down  rain, 
And  I  swear,  by  god,  I'll  never  night-herd  again. 

Feet  in  the  stirrups  and  seat  in  the  saddle, 

I  hung  and  rattled  with  them  long-horn  cattle. 

Last  night  I  was  on  guard  and  the  leader  broke  the 

ranks, 
I  hit  my  horse  down  the  shoulders  and  I  spurred  him 

in  the  flanks. 

The  wind  commenced  to  blow,  and  the  rain  began  to 

fall, 
Hit  looked,  by  grab,  like  we  was  goin'  to  loss  'em  all. 


59 


The  Old  Chisholm   Trail 

I  jumped  in  the  saddle  and  grabbed  holt  the  horn, 
Best  blamed  cow-puncher  ever  was  born. 

I  popped  my  foot  in  the  stirrup  and  gave  a  little  yell, 
[The  tail  cattle  broke  and  the  leaders  went  to  hell. 

I  don't  give  a  damn  if  they  never  do  stop; 
I'll  ride  as  long  as  an  eight-day  clock. 

Foot  in  the  stirrup  and  hand  on  the  horn, 
Best  damned  cowboy  ever  was  born. 

I  herded  and  I  hollered  and  I  done  very  well, 
Till  the  boss  said,  "  Boys,  just  let  'em  go  to  hell." 

Stray  in  the  herd  and  the  boss  said  kill  it, 
So  I  shot  him  in  the  rump  with  the  handle  of  the 
skillet. 

We  rounded  'em  up  and  put  'em  on  the  cars, 
And  that  was  the  last  of  the  old  Two  Bars. 

Oh  it's  bacon  and  beans  most  every  day, — 
I'd  as  soon  be  a-eatin'  prairie  hay. 

I'm  on  my  best  horse  and  I'm  goin'  at  a  run, 
I'm  the  quickest  shootin'  cowboy  that  ever  pulled  a 
gun. 

I  went  to  the  wagon  to  get  my  roll, 
To  come  back  to  Texas,  dad-burn  my  soul. 

60 


The  Old  Chisholm   Trail 

I  went  to  the  boss  to  draw  my  roll, 

He  had  it  figgercd  out  I  was  nine  dollars  in  the  hole. 

I'll  sell  my  outfit  just  as  soon  as  I  can, 
I  won't  punch  cattle  for  no  damned  man. 

Coin'  back  to  town  to  draw  my  money, 
Goin'  back  home  to  see  my  honey. 

With  my  knees  in  the  saddle  and  my  seat  in  the  sky, 
I'll  quit  punching  cows  in  the  sweet  by  and  by. 

Coma  ti  yi  youpy,  youpy  ya,  youpy  ya, 
Coma  ti  yi  youpy,  youpy  ya. 


61 


The  Old  Chisholm  Trail 


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Come  a  -  long,      boys,   and      list  -  en     to     my   tale,    I'll 


£-j*— £       ft— ft.       ft       K-KfJ- JUUfr 

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tell   you    of   my    trou-bles     on    the    old         Chisholm  trail. 


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Co-  ma     ti       yi     you  -  pe,  you  -  pe    ya,     you-pe     ya, 


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The  Old  Chisholm  Trail— Concluded 


Co   -   ma     ti          yi       you    -  pe,    you  -  pe        ya. 


=1  -  - 


t 


JACK  DONAHOO 

GOME,  all  you  bold,  undaunted  men, 
You  outlaws  of  the  day, 
It's  time  to  beware  of  the  ball  and  chain 
And  also  slavery. 
Attention  pay  to  what  I  say, 
And  verily  if  you  do, 
I  will  relate  you  the  actual  fate 
Of  bold  Jack  Donahoo. 

He  had  scarcely  landed,  as  I  tell  you, 

Upon  Australia's  shore, 

Than  he  became  a  real  highwayman, 

As  he  had  been  before. 

There  was  Underwood  and  Mackerman, 

And  Wade  and  Westley  too, 

These  were  the  four  associates 

Of  bold  Jack  Donahoo. 

Jack  Donahoo,  who  was  so  brave, 
Rode  out  that  afternoon, 
Knowing  not  that  the  pain  of  death 
Would  overtake  him  soon. 
So  quickly  then  the  horse  police 
From  Sidney  came  to  view; 
"  Begone  from  here,  you  cowardly  dogs," 
Says  bold  Jack  Donahoo. 
64 


Jack  Donahoo 

The  captain  and  the  sergeant 

Stopped  then  to  decide. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  fight  us 

Or  unto  us  resign?  " 

"  To  surrender  to  such  cowardly  dogs 

Is  more  than  I  will  do, 

This  day  I'll  fight  if  I  lose  my  life," 

Says  bold  Jack  Donahoo. 

The  captain  and  the  sergeant 

The  men  they  did  divide; 

They  fired  from  behind  him 

And  also  from  each  side; 

It's  six  police  he  did  shoot  down 

Before  the  fatal  ball 

Did  pierce  the  heart  of  Donahoo 

And  cause  bold  Jack  to  fall. 

And  when  he  fell,  he  closed  his  eyes, 
He  bid  the  world  adieu ; 
Come,  all  you  boys,  and  sing  the  song 
Of  bold  Jack  Donahoo. 


UTAH  CARROLL 

AND  as,  my  friend,  you  ask  me  what  makes  me 
sad  and  still, 
And  why  my  brow  is  darkened  like  the  clouds  upon 

the  hill; 

Run  in  your  pony  closer  and  I'll  tell  to  you  the  tale 
Of  Utah  Carroll,  my  partner,  and  his  last  ride  on  the 
trail. 

'Mid  the  cactus  and  the  thistles  of  Mexico's  fair 

lands, 
Where  the  cattle  roam  in  thousands,  a-many  a  herd 

and  brand, 
There  is  a  grave  with  neither  headstone,  neither  date 

nor  name, — 
There  lies  my  partner  sleeping  in  the  land  from  which 

I  came. 

We  rode  the  range  together  and  had  rode  it  side  by 

side; 

I  loved  him  as  a  brother,  I  wept  when  Utah  died ; 
We  were  rounding  up  one  morning,  our  work  was 

almost  done, 
When  on  the  side  the  cattle  started  on  a  mad  and 

fearless  run. 

The  boss  man's  little  daughter  was  holding  on  that 
side. 

66 


Utah  Carroll 

She  rushed;  the  cattle  saw  the  blanket,  they  charged 

with  maddened  fear. 
And  little  Varro,  seeing  the  danger,  turned  her  pony 

a  pace 
And  leaning  in  the  saddle,  tied  the  blanket  in  its 

place. 

In  leaning,  she  lost  her  balance  and  fell  in  front  of 

that  wild  tide. 
Utah's  voice  controlled  the  round-up.     "  Lay  still, 

little  Varro,"  he  cried. 
His  only  hope  was  to  raise  her,  to  catch  her  at  full 

speed, 
And  oft-times  he  had  been  known  to  catch  the  trail 

rope  off  his  steed. 

< 
His  pony  reached  the  maiden  with  a  firm  and  steady 

bound; 
Utah  swung  out  from  the  saddle  to  catch  her  from 

the  ground. 
He  swung  out  from  the  saddle,  I  thought  her  safe 

from  harm, 
As  he  swung  in  his  saddle  to  raise  her  in  his  arm. 

But  the  cinches  of  his  saddle  had  not  been  felt  before, 
And  his  back  cinch  snapt  asunder  and  he  fell  by  the 

side  of  Varro. 

He  picked  up  the  blanket  and  swung  it  over  his  head 
And   started   across   the   prairie;   "Lay   still,   little 

Varro,"  he  said. 

67 


Utah  Carroll 

Well,  he  got  the  stampede  turned  and  saved  little 

Varro,  his  friend. 
Then  he  turned  to  face  the  cattle  and  meet  his  fatal 

end. 
His  six-shooter  from  his  pocket,  from  the  scabbard 

he  quickly  drew, — 
He  was  bound  to  die  defended  as  all  young  cowboys 

do. 

His  six-shooter  flashed  like  lightning,  the  report  rang 

loud  and  clear ; 
As  the  cattle  rushed  in  and  killed  him  he  dropped 

the  leading  steer. 

And  when  we  broke  the  circle  where  Utah's  body  lay, 
With  many  a  wound  and  bruise  his  young  life  ebbed 

away. 

"  And  in  some  future  morning,"  I  heard  the  preacher 

say, 
"  I  hope  we'll  all  meet  Utah  at  the  round-up  far 

away." 
Then  we  wrapped  him  in  a  blanket  sent  by  his  little 

friend, 
And  it  was  that  very  red  blanket  that  brought  him 

to  his  end. 


68 


THE  BULL-WHACKER 

I'M  a  lonely  bull-whacker 
On  the  Red  Cloud  line, 
I  can  lick  any  son  of  a  gun 
That  will  yoke  an  ox  of  mine. 
And  if  I  can  catch  him, 
You  bet  I  will  or  try, 
I'd  lick  him  with  an  ox-bow,— 
Root  hog  or  die. 

It's  out  on  the  road 

With  a  very  heavy  load, 

With  a  very  awkward  team 

And  a  very  muddy  road, 

You  may  whip  and  you  may  holler, 

But  if  you  cuss  it's  on  the  sly; 

Then  whack  the  cattle  on,  boys, — 

Root  hog  or  die. 

It's  out  on  the  road 
These  sights  are  to  be  seen, 
The  antelope  and  buffalo, 
The  prairie  all  so  green, — 
The  antelope  and  buffalo, 
The  rabbit  jumps  so  high; 
It's  whack  the  cattle  on,  boys,— 
Root  hog  or  die. 

69 


The  Bull-Whacker 

It's  every  day  at  twelve 
There's  something  for  to  do; 
And  if  there's  nothing  else, 
There's  a  pony  for  to  shoe; 
I'll  throw  him  down, 
And  still  I'll  make  him  lie ; 
Little  pig,  big  pig, 
Root  hog  or  die. 

Now  perhaps  you'd  like  to  know 

What  we  have  to  eat, 

A  little  piece  of  bread 

And  a  little  dirty  meat, 

A  little  black  coffee, 

And  whiskey  on  the  sly; 

It's  whack  the  cattle  on,  boys, — 

Root  hog  or  die. 

There's  hard  old  times  on  Bitter  Creek 

That  never  can  be  beat, 

It  was  root  hog  or  die 

Under  every  wagon  sheet; 

We  cleaned  up  all  the  Indians, 

Drank  all  the  alkali, 

And  it's  whack  the  cattle  on,  boys, — 

Root  hog  or  die. 

There  was  good  old  times  in  Salt  Lake 
That  never  can  pass  by, 
It  was  there  I  first  spied 
My  China  girl  called  Wi» 
70 


The  Bull-Whacker 

She  could  smile,  she  could  chuckle, 
She  could  roll  her  hog  eye; 
Then  it's  whack  the  cattle  on,  boys,- 
Root  hog  or  die. 

Oh,  I'm  going  home 
Bull-whacking  for  to  spurn, 
I  ain't  got  a  nickel, 
And  I  don't  give  a  dern. 
'Tis  when  I  meet  a  pretty  girl, 
You  bet  I  will  or  try, 
I'll  make  her  my  little  wife, — • 
Root  hog  or  die. 


THE  "  METIS "  SONG  OF  THE  BUFFALO 
HUNTERS 

BY  ROBIDEAU 

HURRAH  for  the  buffalo  hunters! 
Hurrah  for  the  cart  brigade ! 
That  creak  along  on  its  winding  way, 

While  we  dance  and  sing  and  play. 
Hurrah,  hurrah  for  the  cart  brigade  1 

Hurrah  for  the  Pembinah  hunters! 

Hurrah  for  its  cart  brigade ! 
For  with  horse  and  gun  we  roll  along 

O'er  mountain  and  hill  and  plain. 
Hurrah,  hurrah  for  the  cart  brigade ! 

We  whipped  the  Sioux  and  scalped  them  too, 

While  on  the  western  plain, 
And  rode  away  on  our  homeward  way 

With  none  to  say  us  nay, — 
Hurrah,  hurrah  for  the  cart  brigade !  Hurrah ! 

Mon  ami,  mon  ami,  hurrah  for  our  black-haired 
girls! 

That  braved  the  Sioux  and  fought  them  too, 
While  on  Montana's  plains. 

We'll  hold  them  true  and  love  them  too, 

7* 


The  "Metis"  Song  of  the  Buffalo  Hunters 

While  on  the  trail  of  the  Pembinah,  hurrah! 

Hurrah,  hurrah  for  the  cart  brigade  of  Pem- 
binah ! 

We  have  the  skins  and  the  meat  so  sweet. 

And  we'll  sit  by  the  fire  in  the  lodge  so  neat, 
While  the  wind  blows  cold  and  the  snow  is  deep. 

Then  roll  in  our  robes  and  laugh  as  we  sleep. 
Hurrah,  hurrah  for  the  cart  brigade!     Hurrah! 
Hurrah !    Hurrah  I 


73 


fO 


THE  COWBOY'S  LAMENT 

AS  I  walked  out  in  the  streets  of  Laredo, 
As  I  walked  out  in  Laredo  one  day, 
I  spied  a  poor  cowboy  wrapped  up  in  white  linen, 
Wrapped  up  in  white  linen  as  cold  as  the  clay. 

"  Oh,  beat  the  drum  slowly  and  play  the  fife  lowly, 
Play  the  Dead  March  as  you  carry  me  along; 
Take  me  to  the  green  valley,  there  lay  the  sod 

o'er  me, 

For  I'm  a  young  cowboy  and  I  know  I've  done 
wrong. 

"I  see  by  your  outfit  that  you  are  a  cowboy," 
These  words  he  did  say  as  I  boldly  stepped  by. 
"  Come  sit  down  beside  me  and  hear  my  sad  story; 
I  was  shot  in  the  breast  and  I  know  I  must  die. 

"  Let  sixteen  gamblers  come  handle  my  coffin, 
Let  sixteen  cowboys  come  sing  me  a  song, 
Take  me  to  the  graveyard  and  lay  the  sod  o'er  me, 
For  I'm  a  poor  cowboy  and  I  know  I've  done 
wrong. 

"  My  friends  and  relations,  they  live  in  the  Nation, 
They  know  not  where  their  boy  has  gone. 
He  first  came  to  Texas  and  hired  to  a  ranchman, 
Oh,  I'm  a  young  cowboy  and  I  know  I've  done  wrong. 

74 


The  Cowboy's  Lament 

"  Go  write  a  letter  to  my  gray-haired  mother, 

And  carry  the  same  to  my  sister  so  dear; 

But  not  a  word  of  this  shall  you  mention 

When  a  crowd  gathers  round  you  my  story  to  hear. 

"  Then  beat  your  drum  lowly  and  play  your  fife 
slowly, 

Beat  the  Dead  March  as  you  carry  me  along; 

We  all  love  our  cowboys  so  young  and  so  hand- 
some, 

We  all  love  our  cowboys  although  they've  done 
wrong.  ' 

u  There  is  another  more  dear  than  a  sister, 
She'll  bitterly  weep  when  she  hears  I  am  gone. 
There  is  another  who  will  win  her  affections, . 
For  I'm  a  young  cowboy  and  they  say  I've  done 
wrong. 

"  Go  gather  around  you  a  crowd  of  young  cowboys, 
And  tell  them  the  story  of  this  my  sad  fate; 
Tell  one  and  the  other  before  they  go  further 
To  stop  their  wild  roving  before  'tis  too  late. 

"  Oh,  muffle  your  drums,  then  play  your  fifes  mer- 
rily; 

Play  the  Dead  March  as  you  go  along. 
And  fire  your  guns  right  over  my  coffin; 
There  goes  an  unfortunate  boy  to  his  home. 


75 


The  Cowboy's  Lament 

"  It  was  once  in  the  saddle  I  used  to  go  dashing, 
It  was  once  in  the  saddle  I  used  to  go  gay ; 
First  to  the  dram-house,  then  to  the  card-house, 
Got  shot  in  the  breast,  I  am  dying  to-day. 

"  Get  six  jolly  cowboys  to  carry  my  coffin; 
Get  six  pretty  maidens  to  bear  up  my  pall. 
Put  bunches  of  roses  all  over  my  coffin, 
Put  roses  to  deaden  the  clods  as  they  fall. 

"  Then  swing  your  rope  slowly  and  rattle  your  spurs 

lowly, 

And  give  a  wild  whoop  as  you  carry  me  along ; 
And  in  the  grave  throw  me  and  roll  the  sod  o'er 

me, 
For  .I'm  a  young  cowboy  and  I  know  I've  done 

wrong. 

"  Go  bring  me  a  cup,  a  cup  of  cold  water, 
To  cool  my  parched  lips,"  the  cowboy  said; 
Before  I  turned,  the  spirit  had  left  him 
And  gone  to  its  Giver, —  the  cowboy  was  dead. 

We  beat  the  drum  slowly  and  played  the  fife 

lowly, 

And  bitterly  wept  as  we  bore  him  along; 
For  we  all  loved  our  comrade,  so  brave,  young, 

and  handsome, 
We  all  loved  our  comrade  although  he'd  done 

wrong. 

76 


LOVE  IN  DISGUISE 

AS  William  and  Mary  stood  by  the  seashore 
Their  last  farewell  to  take, 
Returning  no  more,  little  Mary  she  said, 
"  Why  surely  my  heart  will  break." 
"  Oh,  don't  be  dismayed,  little  Mary,"  he  said, 
As  he  pressed  the  dear  girl  to  his  side, 
"  In  my  absence  don't  mourn,  for  when  I  return 
I'll  make  little  Mary  my  bride." 

Three  years  passed  on  without  any  news. 

One  day  as  she  stood  by  the  door 

A  beggar  passed  by  with  a  patch  on  his  eye, 

"  I'm  home,  oh,  do  pity,  my  love; 

Have  compassion  on  me,  your  friend  I  will  be. 

Your  fortune  I'll  tell  besides. 

The  lad  you  mourn  will  never  return 

To  make  little  Mary  his  bride." 

She  startled  and  trembled  and  then  she  did  say, 
u  All  the  fortune  I  have  I  freely  give 
If  what  I  ask  you  will  tell  unto  me, — 
Say,  does  young  William  yet  live?  " 
"  He  lives  and  is  true  and  poverty  poor, 
And  shipwreck  has  suffered  beside; 
He'll  return  no  more,  because  he  is  poor, 
To  make  little  Mary  his  bride." 

77 


Love  In  Disguise 

"  No  tongue  can  tell  the  joy  I  do  feel 

Although  his  misfortune  I  mourn, 

And  he's  welcome  to  me  though  poverty  poor, 

His  jacket  all  tattered  and  torn. 

I  love  him  so  dear,  so  true  and  sincere, 

I'll  have  no  other  beside; 

Those  with  riches  enrobed  and  covered  with  gold 

Can't  make  little  Mary  their  bride." 

The  beggar  then  tore  the  patch  from  his  eye, 

His  crutches  he  laid  by  his  side, 

Coat,  jacket  and  bundle;  cheeks  red  as  a  rose, 

'Twas  William  that  stood  by  her  side. 

"  Then  excuse  me,  dear  maid,"  to  her  he  said, 

"  It  was  only  your  love  I  tried." 

So  he  hastened  away  at  the  close  of  the  day 

To  make  little  Mary  his  bride. 


MUSTANG  GRAY 

THERE  once  was  a  noble  ranger, 
They  called  him  Mustang  Gray; 
He  left  his  home  when  but  a  youth, 
Went  ranging  far  away. 

But  he'll  go  no  more  a-ranging, 
The  savage  to  affright; 
He  has  heard  his  last  war-whoop, 
And  fought  his  last  fight. 

He  ne'er  would  sleep  within  a  tent, 
No  comforts  would  he  know; 
But  like  a  brave  old  Tex-i-an, 
A-ranging  he  would  go. 

When  Texas  was  invaded 

By  a  mighty  tyrant  foe, 

He  mounted  his  noble  war-horse 

And  a-ranging  he  did  go. 

Once  he  was  taken  prisoner, 
Bound  in  chains  upon  the  way, 
He  wore  the  yoke  of  bondage 
Through  the  streets  of  Monterey. 

A  senorita  loved  him, 
And  followed  by  his  side; 
79 


Mustang  Gray 

She  opened  the  gates  and  gave  to  him 
Her  father's  steed  to  ride. 

God  bless  the  senorita, 

The  belle  of  Monterey, 

She  opened  wide  the  prison  door 

And  let  him  ride  away. 

And  when  this  veteran's  life  was  spent, 

It  was  his  last  command 

To  bury  him  on  Texas  soil 

On  the  banks  of  the  Rio  Grande; 

And  there  the  lonely  traveler, 
When  passing  by  his  grave, 
Will  shed  a  farewell  tear 
O'er  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 

And  he'll  go  no  more  a-ranging, 
The  savage  to  affright; 
He  has  heard  his  last  war-whoop, 
And  fought  his  last  fight. 


80 


YOUNG  COMPANIONS 

COME  all  you  young  companions 
And  listen  unto  me, 
I'll  tell  you  a  story 
Of  some  bad  company. 

I  was  born  in  Pennsylvania 
Among  the  beautiful  hills 
And  the  memory  of  my  childhood 
Is  warm  within  me  still. 

I  did  not  like  my  fireside, 
I  did  not  like  my  home ; 
I  had  in  view  far  rambling, 
So  far  away  did  roam. 

I  had  a  feeble  mother, 
She  oft  would  plead  with  me; 
And  the  last  word  she  gave  me 
Was  to  pray  to  God  in  need. 

I  had  two  loving  sisters, 
As  fair  as  fair  could  be, 
And  oft  beside  me  kneeling 
They  oft  would  plead  with  me. 

I  bid  adieu  to  loved  ones, 
To  my  home  I  bid  farewell, 
81 


Young  Companions 

And  I  landed  in  Chicago 
In  the  very  depth  of  hell. 

It  was  there  I  took  to  drinking, 
I  sinned  both  night  and  day, 
And  there  within  my  bosom 
A  feeble  voice  would  say : 

"  Then  fare  you  well,  my  loved  one, 
May  God  protect  my  boy, 
And  blessings  ever  with  him 
Throughout  his  manhood  joy." 

I  courted  a  fair  young  maiden, 
Her  name  I  will  not  tell, 
For  I  should  ever  disgrace  her 
Since  I  am  doomed  for  hell. 

It  was  on  one  beautiful  evening, 
The  stars  were  shining  bright, 
And  with  a  fatal  dagger 
I  bid  her  spirit  flight. 

So  justice  overtook  me, 
You  all  can  plainly  see, 
My  soul  is  doomed  forever 
Throughout  eternity. 

It's  now  I'm  on  the  scaffold, 
My  moments  are  not  long ; 
You  may  forget  the  singer 
But  don't  forget  the  song. 


LACKEY  BILL 


GOME  all  you  good  old  boys  and  listen  to  my 
rhymes, 
We  are  west  of  Eastern  Texas  and  mostly  men  of 

crimes ; 

Each  with  a  hidden  secret  well  smothered  in  his  breast, 
Which  brought  us  out  to  Mexico,  way  out  here  in 
the  West. 

My  parents  raised  me  tenderly,  they  had  no  child 

but  me, 
Till  I  began  to  ramble  and  with  them  could  never 

agree. 
My  mind  being  bent  on  rambling  did  grieve  their  poor 

hearts  sore, 
To  leave  my  aged  parents  them  to  see  no  more. 

I  was  borned  and  raised  in  Texas,  though  never  come 

to  fame, 

A  cowboy  by  profession,  C.  W.  King,  by  name. 
Oh,  when  the  war  was  ended  I  did  not  like  to  work, 
My  brothers  were  not  happy,  for  I  had  learned  to 

shirk. 

In  fact  I  was  not  able,  my  health  was  very  bad, 
I  had  no  constitution,  I  was  nothing  but  a  lad. 
I  had  no  education,  I  would  not  go  to  school, 
And  living  off  my  parents  I  thought  it  rather  cooL 

83 


Lackey  Bill 

So  I  set  a  resolution  to  travel  to  the  West, 

My  parents  they  objected,  but  still  I  thought  it  best. 

It  was  out  on  the  Seven  Rivers  all  out  on  the  Pecos 

stream, 
It  was  there  I  saw  a  country  I  thought  just  suited  me. 

I  thought  I  would  be  no  stranger  and  lead  a  civil 

life, 

In  order  to  be  happy  would  choose  myself  a  wife. 
On  one  Sabbath  evening  in  the  merry  month  of  May 
To  a  little  country  singing  I  happened  there  to  stray. 

It  was  there  I  met  a  damsel  I  never  shall  forget, 
The  impulse  of  that  moment  remains  within  me  yet. 
We  soon  became  acquainted,  I  thought  she  would  fill 

the  bill, 
She  seemed  to  be  good-natured,  which  helps  to  climb 

the  hill. 

She  was  a  handsome  figure  though  not  so  very  tall; 
Her  hair  was  red  as  blazes,  I  hate  it  worst  of  all. 
I  saw  her  home  one  evening  in  the  presence  of  her 

e  pap, 

I  bid  them  both  good  evening  with  a  note  left  in  her 
lap. 

And  when  I  got  an  answer  I  read  it  with  a  rush, 
I  found  she  had  consented,  my  feelings  was  a  hush. 
But  now  I  have  changed  my  mind,  boys,  I  am  sure  I 
wish  her  well. 

84 


Lackey  Bill 

Here's  to  that  precious  jewel,  I'm  sure  I  wish  her 
well. 

This  girl  was  Miss  Mollie  Walker  who  fell  in  love 

with  me, 

She  was  a  lovely  Western  girl,  as  lovely  as  could  be, 
She  was  so  tall,  so  handsome,  so  charming  and  so 

fair, 
There  is  not  a  girl  in  this  whole  world  with  her  I 

could  compare. 

She  said  my  pockets  would  be  lined  with  gold,  hard 

work  then  I'd  leave  o'er 
If  I'd  consent  to  live  with  her  and  say  I'd  roam  no 

more. 
My  mind  began  to  ramble  and  it  grieved  my  poor 

heart  sore, 
To  leave  my  darling  girl,  her  to  see  no  more. 

I  asked  if  it  made  any  difference  if  I  crossed  o'er  the 

plains ; 

She  said  it  made  no  difference  if  I  returned  again. 
So  we  kissed,  shook  hands,  and  parted,  I  left  that 

girl  behind. 
She  said  she'd  prove  true  to  me  till  death  proved  her 

unkind. 

I  rode  in  the  town  of  Vagus,  all  in  the  public  square ; 
The  mail  coach  had  arrived,  the  post  boy  met  me 
there. 

85 


Lackey  Bill 

He  handed  me  a  letter  that  gave  me  to  understand 
That  the  girl  I  loved  in  Texas  had  married  another 
man. 

So  I  read  a  little  farther  and  found  those  words  were 

true. 

I  turned  myself  all  around,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 
I'll  sell  my  horse,  saddle,  and  bridle,  cow-driving  I'll 

resign, 
I'll  search  this  world  from  town  to  town  for  the  girl 

I  left  behind. 

Here  the  gold  I  find  in  plenty,  the  girls  to  me  are 

kind, 

But  my  pillow  is  haunted  with  the  girl  I  left  behind. 
It's  trouble  and  disappointment  is  all  that  I  can  see, 
For  the  dearest  girl  in  all  the  world  has  gone  square 

back  on  me. 


86 


WHOOPEE  XI  YI  YO,  GIT  ALONG  LITTLE 
BOGIES 

AS  I  walked  out  one  morning  for  pleasure, 
I  spied  a  cow-puncher  all  riding  alone; 
His  hat  was  throwed  back  and  his  spurs  was  a 

jingling, 
As  he  approached  me  a-singin'  this  song, 

Whoopee  ti  yi  yo,  git  along  little  dogies, 
It's  your  misfortune,  and  none  of  my  own. 
Whoopee  ti  yi  yo,  git  along  little  dogies, 
For  you  know  Wyoming  will  be  your  new  home. 

Early  in  the  spring  we  round  up  the  dogies, 
Mark  and  brand  and  bob  off  their  tails; 
Round  up  our  horses,  load  up  the  chuck-wagon, 
Then  throw  the  dogies  upon  the  trail. 

It's  whooping  and  yelling  and  driving  the  dogies; 

Oh  how  I  wish  you  would  go  on ; 

It's    whooping    and    punching    and    go    on    little 

dogies, 
For  you  know  Wyoming  will  be  your  new  home. 

Some  boys  goes  up  the  trail  for  pleasure, 
But  that's  where  you  get  it  most  awfully  wrong; 
For  you  haven't  any  idea  the  trouble  they  give  us 
While  we  go  driving  them  all  along. 

87 


Whoopee  Ti  Yi  Yo,  Git  Along  Little  Dogies 

When  the  night  comes  on  and  we  hold  them  on  the 

bedground, 

These  little  dogies  that  roll  on  so  slow; 
Roll  up  the  herd  and  cut  out  the  strays, 
And  roll  the  little  dogies  that  never  rolled  before. 

Your  mother  she  was  raised  way  down  in  Texas, 
Where  the  jimson  weed  and  sand-burrs  grow; 
Now  we'll  fill  you  up  on  prickly  pear  and  cholla 
Till  you  are  ready  for  the  trail  to  Idaho. 

Oh,  you'll  be  soup  for  Uncle  Sam's  Injuns ; 
"  It's  beef,  heap  beef,"  I  hear  them  cry. 
Git  along,  git  along,  git  along  little  dogies 
You're  going  to  be  beef  steers  by  and  by. 


88 


Whoopee  Ti  Yi  Yo,  Git  Along  Little  Dogies 


1 


J  N  KT 


As      I  was  a  -  walk-ing  one  morn  -  ing     for    pleasure, 


-H- 


Ps  —  =1 


^ 


-A N -A- 


?=t 


I  spied          a   cow-  punch-  er    all    rid  -  ing       a  -  lone; 


-+         -*- 


LBV-           * 

©  —  =1  —  *  —  3  — 

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( 

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His 

bat         was  throw'd  back  and  his  spurs  was      a  -  jing  -  lin', 

J 

f^-— 

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s 



H                              :3 

Whoopee  Ti  Yi  Yo,  Git  Along  Little  Dogles— Continued 


*=* 


1 


2 


As        he         ap-proach'd  me       a  -  sing  -  in'        this      song: 


i 


TV 


REPBAIN. 


/L        N       ft 

tb              -N  1 

2 

""i*       ^      N    1 

P  

Whoopee 
/P~  

ti         yi      yo,      git    a  -  long 

lit  -tie  dog-ies, 

r     | 

-  —  Ps-^l  —  =1  IN*1    *1  

_jq  

-^T-    ->   j1 

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J                   J 

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j        i 

W«            M 

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•i 

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u                     j_T_3  

X—  L 

-  —  -3=  —  1 

Its    your      mis  -  for  -  tune     and     none     of      my     own. 


1 


Whoopee  Ti  Yi  Yo,  Git  Along  Little  Do&es— Concluded 


bzt 

fe^- 

Whoop-ee    ti 

yi    yo, 

-^^E 

git     a  -  long     1 

t  -  tie    dog  -  ies, 

xt  —  q  pv_2 

-          N  . 

1  —  =1  £-3- 

^  —       —  1^  —  is  — 

m  -±— 

'  «f— 

^J 

3= 

1^ 

£ 

1 

in 

w*            h 

—  ^  —  fa 

^ 

_  1  1 

^y  2J  J  

^—  =1  (-=?- 

—  If— 

J 

1            ' 

^i 

• 

1 

rrrrr-7-ni 


For  you  know         Wy    -     o  -  ming  will  be    your    new    home. 


£?t£$ 


Wl- 


Or 


THE  U-S-U  RANGE 

OCOME  cowboys  and  listen  to  my  song, 
I'm  in  hopes  I'll  please  you  and  not  keep  you 
long; 

I'll  sing  you  of  things  you  may  think  strange 
About  West  Texas  and  the  U-S-U  range. 

You  may  go  to  Stamford  and  there  see  a  man 
Who  wears  a  white  shirt  and  is  asking  for  hands ; 
You  may  ask  him  for  work  and  he'll  answer  you 

short, 

He  will  hurry  you  up,  for  he  wants  you  to  start. 
He  will  put  you  in  a  wagon  and  be  off  in  the  rain, 
You  will  go  up  on  Tongue  River  on  the  U-S-U  range. 

You  will  drive  up  to  the  ranch  and  there  you  will 

stop. 

It's  a  little  sod  house  with  dirt  all  on  top. 
You  will  ask  what  it  is  and  they  will  tell  you  out 

plain 
That  it's  the  ranch  house  on  the  U-S-U  range. 

You  will  go  in  the  house  and  he  will  begin  to  explain ; 
You  will  see  some  blankets  rolled  up  on  the  floor ; 
You  may  ask  what  it  is  and  they  will  tell  you  out 

plain 

That  it  is  the  bedding  on  the  U-S-U  range. 

92 


The  U-S-U  Range 

You  are  up  in  the  morning  at  the  daybreak 
To  eat  cold  beef  and  U-S-U  steak, 
And  out  to  your  work  no  matter  if  it's  rain, — 
And  that  is  the  life  on  the  U-S-U  range. 

You  work  hard  all  day  and  come  in  at  night, 
And  turn  your  horse  loose,  for  they  say  it's  all  right, 
And  set  down  to  supper  and  begin  to  complain 
Of  the  chuck  that  you  eat  on  the  U-S-U  range. 

The  grub  that  you  get  is  beans  and  cold  rice 
And  U-S-U  steak  cooked  up  very  nice; 
And  if  you  don't  like  that  you  needn't  complain, 
For  that's  what  you  get  on  the  U-S-U  range. 

Now,  kind  friends,  I  must  leave  you,  I  no  longer  can 

remain, 

I  hope  I  have  pleased  you  and  given  you  no  pain. 
But  when  I  am  gone,  don't  think  me  strange, 
For  I  have  been  a  cow-puncher  on  the  U-S-U  range. 


93 


fcf  ttt  9^^  fl*JMJJt"<lfa^ 


I'M  A  GOOD  OLD  REBEL 

OH,  I'm  a  good  old  rebel,  that's  what  I  am ; 
And  for  this  land  of  freedom,  I  don't  care  a 

damn, 

I'm  glad  I  fought  agin  her,  I  only  wish  we'd  won, 
And  I  don't  axe  any  pardon  for  anything  I've  done. 

I  served  with  old  Bob  Lee,  three  years  about, 

Got  wounded  in  four  places  and  starved  at  Point 

Lookout ; 

I  caught  the  rheumatism  a-campin'  in  the  snow, 
But  I  killed  a  chance  of  Yankees  and  wish  I'd  killed 

some  mo'. 

For  Fm  a  good  old  rebel,  etc. 

I  hate  the  constitooshin,  this  great  republic  too; 

I  hate  the  mouty  eagle,  an'  the  uniform  so  blue; 

I  hate  their  glorious  banner,  an'  all  their  flags  an' 

fuss, 
Those  lyin',  thievin'  Yankees,  I  hate  'em  wuss  an' 

wuss. 

For  I'm  a  good  old  rebel,  etc. 

I   won't  be   re-constructed!     I'm   better   now   than 
them; 

94 


I'm  a  Good  Old  Rebel 

And  for  a  carpet-bagger,  I  don't  give  a  damn; 
So  I'm  off  for  the  frontier,  soon  as  I  can  go, 
I'll  prepare  me  a  weapon  and  start  for  Mexico. 

For  I'm  a  good  old  rebel,  etc. 


95 


THE  COWBOY 

ALL  day  long  on  the  prairies  I  ride, 
Not  even  a  dog  to  trot  by  my  side; 
My  fire  I  kindle  with  chips  gathered  round, 
My  coffee  I  boil  without  being  ground. 

I  wash  in  a  pool  and  wipe  on  a  sack; 
I  carry  my  wardrobe  all  on  my  back; 
For  want  of  an  oven  I  cook  bread  in  a  pot, 
And  sleep  on  the  ground  for  want  of  a  cot. 

My  ceiling  is  the  sky,  my  floor  is  the  grass, 
My  music  is  the  lowing  of  the  herds  as  they  pass ; 
My  books  are  the  brooks,  my  sermons  the  stones, 
My  parson  is  a  wolf  on  his  pulpit  of  bones. 

And  then  if  my  cooking  is  not  very  complete 
You  can't  blame  me  for  wanting  to  eat. 
But  show  me  a  man  that  sleeps  more  profound 
Than  the  big  puncher-boy  who  stretches  himself  on 
the  ground. 

My  books  teach  me  ever  consistence  to  prize, 
My  sermons,  that  small  things  I  should  not  despise; 
My  parson  remarks  from  his  pulpit  of  bones 
That  fortune  favors  those  who  look  out  for  their 
own. 

96 


The  Cowboy 

And  then  between  me  and  love  lies  a  gulf  very  wide. 
Some  lucky  fellow  may  call  her  his  bride. 
My  friends  gently  hint  I  am  coming  to  grief, 
But  men  must  make  money  and  women  have  beef. 

But  Cupid  is  always  a  friend  to  the  bold, 

And  the  best  of  his  arrows  are  pointed  with  gold. 

Society  bans  me  so  savage  and  dodge 

That  the  Masons  would  ball  me  out  of  their  lodge. 

If  I  had  hair  on  my  chin,  I  might  pass  for  the  goat 

That  bore  all  the  sins  in  the  ages  remote ; 

But  why  it  is  I  can  never  understand, 

For  each  of  the  patriarchs  owned  a  big  brand. 

Abraham  emigrated  in  search  of  a  range, 
And  when  water  was  scarce  he  wanted  a  change; 
Old  Isaac  owned  cattle  in  charge  of  Esau, 
And  Jacob  punched  cows  for  his  father-in-law. 

He  started  in  business  way  down  at  bed  rock, 

And  made  quite  a  streak  at  handling  stock; 

Then  David  went  from  night-herding  to  using  a 

sling; 

And,  winning  the  battle,  he  became  a  great  king. 
Then  the  shepherds,  while  herding  the  sheep  on  a 

hill, 
Got  a  message  from  heaven  of  peace  and  goodwill. 


97 


The  Cowboy 


Music  by  the  "  Kid 


All    day    on    the    prai-  rie     in    the    sad  -  die     I    ride, 


I 


±=iT==* 


•v — v 


V V— 

Not       e   -  ven      a      dog,  boys,    to    trot    by      my    side. 


HHl 


I 


jrgF  •  f  f  "TT^T^  c  r  r 

^     W.I  L L       L'L^         v>    ,}  V      r      V       \  | 

^^^^      ^^  ^  §f  ^  ^ 


My  fire    I    must  kin  -  die    with  chips  gathered  round, 


The  Cowboy—  Concluded 


And     boil    my  own  cof  -  fee  with  -  out    be  -  ing  ground. 


2t£ 
rrrx17^ 


in      a     pool  and     I      wipe    on      a     sack, 


H^'t         *1 

—  =1  

q  — 

_^  q  = 

4 

i-«  —  i 

3E 

1 

I          car  -  ry    my      ward  -   robe    all      on    my    back. 


i 


BILL  PETERS,  THE  STAGE  DRIVER 

BILE  PETERS  was  a  hustler 
From  Independence  town; 
He  warn't  a  college  scholar 
Nor  man  of  great  renown, 
But  Bill  had  a  way  o'  doing  things 
And  doin'  'em  up  brown. 

Bill  driv  the  stage  from  Independence 

Up  to  the  Smokey  Hill; 

And  everybody  knowed  him  thar 

As  Independence  Bill, — 

Thar  warn't  no  feller  on  the  route 

That  driv  with  half  the  skill. 

Bill  driv  four  pair  of  horses, 
Same  as  you'd  drive  a  team, 
And  you'd  think  you  was  a-travelin* 
On  a  railroad  driv  by  steam; 
And  he'd  git  thar  on  time,  you  bet, 
Or  Bill  'u'd  bust  a  seam. 

He  carried  mail  and  passengers, 
And  he  started  on  the  dot, 
And  them  teams  o'  his'n,  so  they  say, 
Was  never  known  to  trot; 
But  they  went  it  in  a  gallop 
And  kept  their  axles  hot. 
100 


Bill  Peters,   The  Stage  Driver 

When  Bill's  stage  'u'd  bust  a  tire, 
Or  something  'u'd  break  down, 
He'd  hustle  round  and  patch  her  up 
And  start  off  with  a  bound; 
And  the  wheels  o'  that  old  shack  o'  his 
Scarce  ever  touched  the  ground. 

And  Bill  didn't  low  no  foolin', 
And  when  Inguns  hove  in  sight 
And  bullets  rattled  at  the  stage, 
He  druv  with  all  his  might; 
He'd  holler,  "  Fellers,  give  'em  hell, 
I  ain't  got  time  to  fight." 

Then  the  way  them  wheels  'u'd  rattle, 

And  the  way  the  dust  'u'd  fly, 

You'd  think  a  million  cattle, 

Had  stampeded  and  gone  by; 

But  the  mail  'u'd  get  thar  just  the  same, 

If  the  horses  had  to  die. 

He  driv  that  stage  for  many  a  year 
Along  the  Smokey  Hill, 
And  a  pile  o'  wild  Comanches 
Did  Bill  Peters  have  to  kill,— 
And  I  reckon  if  he'd  had  good  luck 
He'd  been  a  drivin'  still. 

But  he  chanced  one  day  to  run  agin 
A  bullet  made  o'  lead, 
101 


Bill  Peters,   The  Stage  Driver 

Which  was  harder  than  he  bargained  for 
And  now  poor  Bill  is  dead; 
And  when  they  brung  his  body  home 
A  barrel  of  tears  was  shed. 


102 


HARD  TIMES 

COME  listen  a  while  and  I'll  sing  you  a  song 
Concerning  the  times  —  it  will  not  be  long  — 
When  everybody  is  striving  to  buy, 
And  cheating  each  other,  I  cannot  tell  why, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 

From  father  to  mother,  from  sister  to  brother, 
From  cousin  to  cousin,  they're  cheating  each  other. 
Since  cheating  has  grown  to  be  so  much  the  fashion, 
I  believe  to  my  soul  it  will  run  the  whole  Nation, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 

Now  there  is  the  talker,  by  talking  he  eats, 
And  so  does  the  butcher  by  killing  his  meats. 
He'll  toss  the  steelyards,  and  weigh  it  right  down, 
And  swear  it's  just  right  if  it  lacks  forty  pounds, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times.  f-'\ 

And  there  is  the  merchant,  as  honest,  we're  told. 
Whatever  he  sells  you,  my  friend,  you  are  sold ; 
Believe  what  I  tell  you,  and  don't  be  surprised 
To  find  yourself  cheated  half  out  of  your  eyes, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 


103 


Hard  Times 

And  there  is  the  lawyer  you  plainly  will  see, 
He  will  plead  your  case  for  a  very  large  fee, 
He'll  law  you  and  tell  you  the  wrong  side  is  right, 
And  make  you  believe  that  a  black  horse  is  white,- 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 

And  there  is  the  doctor,  I  like  to  forgot, 
I  believe  to  my  soul  he's  the  worst  of  the  lot; 
He'll  tell  you  he'll  cure  you  for  half  you  possess, 
And  when  you're  buried  he'll  take  all  the  rest, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 

And  there's  the  old  bachelor,  all  hated  with  scorn, 
He's  like  an  old  garment  all  tattered  and  torn, 
The  girls  and  the  widows  all  toss  him  a  sigh, 
And  think  it  quite  right,  and  so  do  I, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 

And  there's  the  young  widow,  coquettish  and  shy, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  tear  in  her  eye, 
But  when  she  gets  married  she'll  cut  quite  a  dash, 
She'll  give  him  the  reins  and  she'll  handle  the  cash,- 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 

And  there's  the  young  lady  I  like  to  have  missed, 
And  I  believe  to  my  soul  she'd  like  to  be  kissed; 
She'll  tell  you  she  loves  you  with  all  pretence 
And  ask  you  to  call  again  some  time  hence, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 


104 


Hard  Times 

And  there's  the  young  man,  the  worst  of  the  whole. 
Oh,  he  will  tell  you  with  all  of  his  soul, 
He'll  tell  you  he  loves  you  and  for  you  will  die, 
And  when  he's  away  he  will  swear  it's  a  lie, — 
And  it's  hard,  hard  times. 


105 


COLE  YOUNGER 

I  AM  one  of  a  band  of  highwaymen,  Cole  Younger 
is  my  name ; 
My  crimes  and  depredations  have  brought  my  friends 

to  shame; 
The  robbing  of  the  Northfield  Bank,  the  same  I 

can't  deny, 
For  now  I  am  a  prisoner,  in  the  Stillwater  jail  I  lie. 

'Tis  of  a  bold,  high  robbery,  a  story  to  you  I'll  tell, 

Of  a  California  miner  who  unto  us  befell; 

We  robbed  him  of  his  money  and  bid  him  go  his 

way, 
For  which  I  will  be  sorry  until  my  dying  day. 

And  then  we  started  homeward,  when  brother  Bob 

did  say: 
"  Now,  Cole,  we  will  buy  fast  horses  and  on  them 

ride  away. 
We  will  ride  to  avenge  our  father's  death  and  try  to 

win  the  prize; 
We  will  fight  those  anti-guerrillas  until  the  day  we 

die." 

And  then  we  rode  towards  Texas,  that  good  old 

Lone  Star  State, 
But  on  Nebraska's  prairies  the  James  boys  we  did 

meet; 

106 


Cole  Younger 

With  knives,  guns,  and  revolvers  we  all  sat  down  to 

play, 
A-drinking  of  good  whiskey  to  pass  the  time  away. 

A  Union  Pacific  railway  train  was  the  next  we  did 
surprise, 

And  the  crimes  done  by  our  bloody,  hands  bring 
tears  into  my  eyes. 

The  engineerman  and  fireman  killed,  the  conductor 
escaped  alive, 

And  now  their  bones  lie  mouldering  beneath  Ne- 
braska's skies. 

Then  we  saddled  horses,  northwestward  we  did  go, 
To  the  God- forsaken  country  called  Min-ne-so-te-o; 
I  had  my  eye  on  the  Northfield  bank  when  brother 

Bob  did  say, 
"  Now,   Cole,   if  you  undertake  the  job,  you  will 

surely  curse  the  day." 

But  I  stationed  out  my  pickets  and  up  to  the  bank 

did  go, 

And  there  upon  the  counter  I  struck  my  fatal  blow. 
"  Just  hand  us  over  your  money  and  make  no  further 

delay, 
We  are  the  famous  Younger  brothers,  we  spare  no 

time  to  pray." 


107 


c 


MISSISSIPPI  GIRLS 

OME,  all  you  Mississippi  girls,  and  listen  to  my 

noise, 
If  you  happen  to  go  West,  don't  you  marry  those 

Texian  boys; 

For  if  you  do,  your  fortune  will  be 
Cold  jonny-cake  and  beefsteak,  that's  all  that  you  will 

see,— 
Cold  jonny-cake  and  beefsteak,  that's  all  that  you  will 

see. 

When  they  go  courting,  here's  what  they  wear : 
An  old  leather  coat,  and  it's  all  ripped  and  tore ; 
And  an  old  brown  hat  with  the  brim  tore  down, 
And  a  pair  of  dirty  socks,  they've  worn  the  winter 
round. 

When  one  comes  in,  the  first  thing  you  hear 
Is,  "  Madam,  your  father  has  killed  a  deer  "; 
And  the  next  thing  they  say  when  they  sit  down 
Is,  "  Madam,  the  jonny-cake  is  too  damned  brown." 

They  live  in  a  hut  with  hewed  log  wall, 
But  it  ain't  got  any  windows  at  all; 
With  a  clap-board  roof  and  a  puncheon  floor, 
And  that's  the  way  all  Texas  o'er. 


108 


Mississippi  Girls 

They  will  take  you  out  on  a  live-oak  hill 

And  there  they  will  leave  you  much  against  your  will. 

They  will  leave  you  on  the  prairie,  starve  you  on  the 

plains, 

For  that  is  the  way  with  the  Texians, — 
For  that  is  the  way  with  the  Texians. 

When  they  go  to  preaching  let  me  tell  you  how  they 

dress; 

Just  an  old  black  shirt  without  any  vest, 
Just  an  old  straw  hat  more  brim  than  crown 
And   an   old  sock  leg  that  they  wear  the  winter 

round, — 
And   an   old  sock  leg  that  they  wear  the  winter 

round. 

For  your  wedding  supper,  there'll  be  beef  and  corn- 
bread; 

There  it  is  to  eat  when  the  ceremony's  said. 
And  when  you  go  to  milk  you'll  milk  into  a  gourd; 
And  set  it  in  the  corner  and  cover  it  with  a  board ; 
Some  gets  little  and  some  gets  none, 
For  that  is  the  way  with  the  Texians, — 
For  that  is  the  way  with  the  Texians. 


109 


»M 


THE  OLD  MAN  UNDER  THE  HILL 

THERE  was  an  old  man  who  lived  under  the  hill, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  lived  under  the  hill, 
And  if  he  ain't  dead  he's  living  there  still, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  living  there  still. 

One  day  the  old  man  went  out  to  plow, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  went  out  to  plow; 
'Tis  good-bye  the  old  fellow,  and  how  are  you  now, 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  and  how  are  you  now. 

And  then  another  came  to  his  house, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  came  to  his  house; 
"  There's  one  of  your  family  I've  got  to  have  now, 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  got  to  have  now. 

"  It's  neither  you  nor  your  oldest  son, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  nor  your  oldest  son." 
"  Then  take  my  old  woman  and  take  her  for  fun, 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  take  her  for  fun." 

He  takened  her  all  upon  his  back, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  upon  his  back, 
And  like  an  old  rascal  went  rickity  rack, 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  went  rickity  rack. 

But  when  he  got  half  way  up  the  road, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  up  the  road, 

no 


'The  Old  Man  Under  the  Hill 

Says  he,  "  You  old  lady,  you're  sure  a  load," 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  you're  sure  a  load. 

He  set  her  down  on  a  stump  to  rest, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  stump  to  rest; 
She  up  with  a  stick  and  hit  him  her  best 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  hit  him  her  best, 

He  taken  her  on  to  hell's  old  gate, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  hell's  old  gate, 
But  when  he  got  there  he  got  there  too  late, 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  got  there  too  late. 

And  so  he  had  to  keep  his  wife, 
Chir-u-ra-wee,  had  to  keep  his  wife, 
And  keep  her  he  did  for  the  rest  of  his  life, 
Sing  chir-u-ra-wee,  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 


JERRY,  GO  ILE  THAT  CAR 

COME  all  ye  railroad  section  men  an1  listen  to 
my  song, 

It  is  of  Larry  O' Sullivan  who  now  is  dead  and  gone. 
For  twinty  years  a  section  boss,  he  niver  hired  a 

tar  — 

Oh,  it's  "  j'int  ahead  and  cinter  back, 
An'  Jerry,  go  ile  that  car !  " 

For  twinty  years  a  section  boss,  he  niver  hired  a  tar, 
But  it's  "  j'int  ahead  an  cinter  back, 
An'  Jerry,  go  ile  that  car-r-r!  " 

For  twinty  years  a  section  boss,  he  worked  upon  the 

track, 

And  be  it  to  his  cred-i-it  he  niver  had  a  wrack. 
For  he  kept  every  j'int  right  up  to  the  p'int  wid  the 

tap  of  the  tampin-bar-r-r ; 
And  while  the  byes  was  a-swimmin'  up  the  ties, 
It's  "  Jerry,  wud  yez  ile  that  car-r-r!  " 

God  rest  ye,  Larry  O' Sullivan,  to  me  ye  were  kind 

and  good ; 
Ye  always  made  the  section  men  go  out  and  chop  me 

wood; 
An'  fetch  me  wather  from  the  well  an'  chop  me 

kindlin'  fine; 

112 


Jerry,  Go  lie  that  Car 

And  any  man  that  wouldn't  lind  a  hand,  'twas  Larry 
give  him  his  Time. 

And  ivery  Sunday  morni-i-ing  unto  the  gang  he'd  say : 
"  Me  byes,  prepare  —  yez  be  aware  the  ould  lady 

goes  to  church  the  day. 
Now,  I  want  ivery  man  to  pump  the  best  he  can,  for 

the  distance  it  is  far-r-r; 
An'  we  have  to  get  in  ahead  of  number  tin  — 
So,  Jerry,  go  an'  ile  that  car-r-r!  " 

'Twas  in  November  in  the  winter  time  and  the 

ground  all  covered  wid  snow, 
"  Come  put  the  hand-car-r-r  on  the  track  an'  over 

the  section  go!  " 
Wid  his  big  soger  coat  buttoned  up  to  his  t'roat,  all 

weathers  he  would  dare  — 
An'  it's  "  Paddy  Mack,  will  yez  walk  the  track, 
An'  Jerry,  go  an'  ile  that  car-r-r!  " 

"  Give  my  respects  to  the  roadmas-ther,"  poor  Larry 

he  did  cry, 
*'  An  lave  me  up  that  I  may  see  the  ould  hand-car 

before  I  die. 

Come,  j'int  ahead  an'  cinter  back, 
An'  Jerry,  go  an'  ile  that  car-r-r !  " 

Then  lay  the  spike  maul  upon  his  chist,  the  gauge, 

and  the  ould  claw-bar-r-r, 
And  while  the  byes  do  be  fillin'  up  his  grave, 
"  Oh,  Jerry,  go  an'  ile  that  car-r-r !  " 

113 


JOHN  GARNER'S  TRAIL  HERD 

COME  all  you  old  timers  and  listen  to  my  song; 
•I'll  make  it  short  as  possible  and  I'll  not  keep 

you  long; 
I'll  relate  to  you  about  the  time  you  all  remember 

well 

When  we,  with  old  Joe  Garner,  drove  a  beef  herd 
up  the  trail. 

When  we  left  the  ranch  it  was  early  in  the  spring, 
We  had  as  good  a  corporal  as  ever  rope  did  swing, 
Good  hands  and  good  horses,  good  outfit  through 

and  through, — 
We  went  well  equipped,  we  were  a  jolly  crew. 

We  had  no  little  herd  —  two  thousand  head  or 
more  — 

And  some  as  wild  a  brush  beeves  as  you  ever  saw  be- 
fore. 

We  swung  to  them  all  the  way  and  sometimes  by  the 
tail, — 

Oh,  you  know  we  had  a  circus  as  we  all  went  up  the 
trail. 

All  things  went  on  well  till  we  reached  the  open 

ground, 
And  then  them  cattle  turned  in  and  they  gave  us 

merry  hell. 

114 


John  Garner's   Trail  Herd 

They  stampeded  every  night  that  came  and  did  it 

without  fail, — 

Oh,  you  know  we  had  a  circus  as  we  all  went  up  the 
trail. 

We  would  round  them  up  at  morning  and  the  boss 

would  make  a  count, 
And  say,  "  Look  here,  old  punchers,  we  are  out  quite 

an  amount; 
You  must  make  all  losses  good  and  do  it  without 

fail 
Or  you  will  never  get  another  job  of  driving  up  the 

trail." 

When  we  reached  Red  River  we  gave  the  Inspector 

the  dodge. 
He  swore  by  God  Almighty,  in  jail  old  John  should 

lodge. 
We  told  him  if  he'd  taken  our  boss  and  had  him 

locked  in  jail, 
We  would  shore  get  his  scalp  as  we  all  came  down 

the  trail. 

When  we  reached  the  Reservation,  how  squirmish 

we  did  feel, 
Although  we  had  tried  old  Garner  and  knew  him 

true  as  steel. 

And  if  we  would  follow  him  and  do  as  he  said  do, 
That  old  bald-headed  cow-thief  would  surely  take 

us  through. 

115 


John  Garner's   Trail  Herd 

When  we  reached  Dodge  City  we  drew  our  four 

months'  pay. 

Times  was  better  then,  boys,  that  was  a  better  day. 
The  way  we  drank  and  gambled  and  threw  the  girls 

around, — 
"  Say,  a  crowd  of  Texas  cowboys  has  come  to  take 

our  town." 

The  cowboy  sees  many  hardships  although  he  takes 

them  well; 
The  fun  we  had  upon  that  trip,  no  human  tongue 

can  tell. 
The  cowboy's  life  is  a  dreary  life,  though  his  mind 

it  is  no  load, 
And  he  always  spends  his  money  like  he  found  it  in 

the  road. 

If  ever  you  meet  old  Garner,  you  must  meet  him  on 

the  square, 
For  he  is  the  biggest  cow-thief  that  ever  tramped  out 

there. 
But  if  you  want  to  hear  him  roar  and  spin  a  lively 

tale, 
Just  ask  him  about  the  time  we  all  went  up  the  trail. 


116 


THE  OLD  SCOUT'S  LAMENT 

GOME  all  of  you,  my  brother  scouts, 
And  join  me  in  my  song; 
Come,  let  us  sing  together 
Though  the  shadows  fall  so  long. 

Of  all  the  old  frontiersmen 
That  used  to  scour  the  plain, 
There  are  but  very  few  of  them 
That  with  us  yet  remain. 

Day  after  day  they're  dropping  off, 
They're  going  one  by  one; 
Our  clan  is  fast  decreasing, 
Our  race  is  almost  run. 

There  were  many  of  our  number 
That  never  wore  the  blue, 
But,  faithfully,  they  did  their  part, 
As  brave  men,  tried  and  true. 

They  never  joined  the  army, 
But  had  other  work  to  do 
In  piloting  the  coming  folks, 
To  help  them  safely  through. 

But,  brothers,  we  are  falling, 
Our  race  is  almost  run; 
117 


The  Old  Scout's  Lament 

The  days  of  elk  and  buffalo 
And  beaver  traps  are  gone. 

Oh,  the  days  of  elk  and  buffalo! 
It  fills  my  heart  with  pain 
To  know  these  days  are  past  and  gone 
To  never  come  again. 

We  fought  the  red-skin  rascals 
Over  valley,  hill,  and  plain  ; 
We  fought  him  in  the  mountain  top, 
And  fought  him  down  again. 

These  fighting  days  are  over; 
The  Indian  yell  resounds 
No  more  along  the  border; 
Peace  sends  far  sweeter  sounds. 

But  we  found  great  joy,  old  comrades, 
To  hear,  and  make  it  die; 
We  won  bright  homes  for  gentle  ones, 
And  now,  our  West,  good-bye. 


118 


THE  LONE  BUFFALO  HUNTER 

IT'S  of  those  Texas  cowboys,  a  story  I'll  tell ; 
No  name  I  will  mention  though  in  Texas  they 

do  dwell. 
Go  find  them  where  you  will,  they  are  all  so  very 

brave, 
And  when  in  good  society  they  seldom  misbehave. 

When  the  fall  work  is  all  over  in  the  line-camp  they'll 

be  found, 
For  they  have  to  ride  those  lonesome  lines  the  long 

winter  round; 
They  prove  loyal  to  a  comrade,  no  matter  what's  to 

do; 
And  when  in  love  with  a  fair  one  they  seldom  prove 

untrue. 

But  springtime  comes  at  last  and  finds  them  glad  and 

gay; 

They  ride  out  to  the  round-up  about  the  first  of  May; 
About  the  first  of  August  they  start  up  the  trail, 
They  have  to  stay  with  the  cattle,  no  matter  rain  or 
hail. 

But  when  they  get  to  the  shipping  point,  then  they 

receive  their  tens, 
Straightway  to  the  bar-room  and  gently  blow  them 

in; 

119 


The  Lone  Buffalo  Hunter 

It's  the  height  of  their  ambition,  so  I've  been  truly 
told, 

To  ride  good  horses  and  saddles  and  spend  the  sil- 
ver and  gold. 

Those  last  two  things  I've  mentioned,  it  is  their 
heart's  desire, 

And  when  they  leave  the  shipping  point,  their  eyes 
are  like  balls  of  fire. 

It's  of  those  fighting  cattle,  they  seem  to  have  no 
fear, 

A-riding  bucking  broncos  oft  is  their  heart's  de- 
sire. 

They  will  ride  into  the  branding  pen,  a  rope  within 

their  hands, 
They  will  catch  them  by  each  forefoot  and  bring 

them  to  the  sands; 

It's  altogether  in  practice  with  a  little  bit  of  sleight, 
A-roping  Texas  cattle,  it  is  their  heart's  delight. 

But  now  comes  the  rising  generation  to  take  the  cow- 
boy's place, 

Likewise  the  corn-fed  granger,  with  his  bold  and 
cheeky  face; 

It's  on  those  plains  of  Texas  a  lone  buffalo  hunter 
does  stand 

To  tell  the  fate  of  the  cowboy  that  rode  at  his  right 
hand. 


120 


THE  CROOKED  TRAIL  TO  HOLBROOK 

GOME  all  you  jolly  cowboys  that  follow,  the 
bronco  steer, 
I'll  sing  to  you  a  verse  or  two  your  spirits  for  to 

cheer; 

It's  all  about  a  trip,  a  trip  that  I  did  undergo 
On  that  crooked  trail  to  Holbrook,  in  Arizona  oh. 

It's  on  the  seventeenth  of  February,  our  herd  it 

started  out, 
It  would  have  made  your  hearts  shudder  to  hear 

them  bawl  and  shout, 

As  wild  as  any  buffalo  that  ever  rode  the  Platte, 
Those  dogies  we  were  driving,  and  every  one  was 

fat. 

We  crossed  the  Mescal  Mountains  on  the  way  to 

Gilson  Flats, 
And  when  we  got  to  Gilson  Flats,  Lord,  how  the 

wind  did  blow; 
It  blew  so  hard,   it  blew   so  fierce,   we   knew   not 

where  to  go, 
But  our  spirits  never  failed  us  as  onward  we  did 

go,— 
On  that  crooked  trail  to  Holbrook,  in  Arizona  oh. 

That  night  we  had  a  stampede;   Christ,   how  the 
cattle  run! 

121 


The  Crooked  Trail  to  Holbrook 

We  made  it  to  our  horses;  I  tell  you,  we  had  no  fun; 
Over  the  prickly  pear  and  catclaw  brush  we  quickly 

made  our  way; 
We  thought  of  our  long  journey  and  the  girls  we'd 

left  one  day. 

It's  long  by  Sombserva  we  slowly  punched  along, 
While  each  and  every  puncher  would  sing  a  hearty 

song 

To  cheer  up  his  comrade  as  onward  we  did  go, 
On  that  crooked  trail  to  Holbrook,  in  Arizona  oh. 

We  crossed  the  Mongollen  Mountains  where  the  tall 

pines  do  grow, 
Grass  grows  in  abundance,  and  rippling  streams  do 

flow; 
Our  packs  were  always  turning,  of  course  our  gait 

was  slow, 
On  that  crooked  trail  to  Holbrook,  in  Arizona  oh. 

At  last  we  got  to  Holbrook,  a  little  gale  did  blow ; 
It  blew  up  sand  and  pebble  stones  and  it  didn't  blow 

them  slow. 
We  had  to  drink  the  water  from  that  muddy  little 

stream 
And  swallowed  a  peck  of  dirt  when  we  tried  to  eat 

a  bean. 

But  the  cattle  now  are  shipped  and  homeward  we 
are  bound 

122 


The  Crooked  Trail  to  Holbrook 

With  a  lot  of  as  tired  horses  as  ever  could  be  found; 
Across  the  reservation  no  danger  did  we  fear, 
But  thought  of  wives  and  sweethearts  and  the  ones 

we  love  so  dear. 
Now  we  are  back  in  Globe  City,  our  friendship  there 

to  share; 
Here's  luck  to  every  puncher  that  follows  the  bronco 

steer. 


123 


ONLY  A  COWBOY 

AWAY  out  in  old  Texas,  that  great  lone  star 
state, 

Where  the  mocking  bird  whistles  both  early  and  late ; 
It  was  in  Western  Texas  on  the  old  N  A  range 
The  boy  fell  a  victim  on  the  old  staked  plains. 

He  was  only  a  cowboy  gone  on  before, 
He  was  only  a  cowboy,  we  will  never  see  more; 
He  was  doing  his  duty  on  the  old  N  A  range 
But  now  he  is  sleeping  on  the  old  staked  plains. 

His  crew  they  were  numbered  twenty-seven  or  eight, 

The  boys  were  like  brothers,  their  friendship  was 
great, 

When  "  O  God,  have  mercy  "  was  heard  from  be- 
hind,— 

The  cattle  were  left  to  drift  on  the  line. 

He  leaves  a  dear  wife  and  little  ones,  too, 

To  earn  them  a  living,  as  fathers  oft  do ; 

For  while  he  was  working  for  the  loved  ones  so  dear 

He  was  took  without  warning  or  one  word  of  cheer. 

And  while  he  is  sleeping  where  the  sun  always  shines, 
The  boys  they  go  dashing  along  on  the  line; 
The  look  on  their  faces  it  speaks  to  us  all 
Of  one  who  departed  to  the  home  of  the  soul. 

124 


Only  a  Cowboy 

He  was  only  a  cowboy  gone  on  before, 
He  was  only  a  cowboy,  we  will  never  see  more; 
He  was  doing  his  duty  on  the  old  N  A  range 
But  now  he  is  sleeping  on  the  old  staked  plains. 


125 


FULLER  AND  WARREN 

YE  sons  of  Columbia,  your  attention  I  do  crave, 
While  a  sorrowful  story  I  do  tell, 
Which  happened  of  late,  in  the  Indiana  state, 
And  a  hero  not  many  could  excel ; 
Like  Samson  he  courted,  made  choice  of  the  fair, 
And  intended  to  make  her  his  wife ; 
But  she,  like  Delilah,  his  heart  did  ensnare, 
Which  cost  him  his  honor  and  his  life. 

A  gold  ring  he  gave  her  in  token  of  his  love, 

On  the  face  was  the  image  of  the  dove; 

They  mutually  agreed  to  get  married  with  speed 

And  were  promised  by  the  powers  above. 

But  the  fickle-minded  maiden  vowed  again  to  wed 

To  young  Warren  who  lived  in  that  place; 

It  was  a  fatal  blow  that  caused  his  overthrow 

And  added  to  her  shame  and  disgrace. 

j 

When  Fuller  came  to  hear  he  was  deprived  of  his 

dear 

Whom  he  vowed  by  the  powers  to  wed, 
With  his  heart  full  of  woe  unto  Warren  he  did  go, 
And  smilingly  unto  him  he  said : 
"  Young  man,  you  have  injured  me  to  gratify  your 

cause 

By  reporting  that  I  left  a  prudent  wife; 

126 


Fuller  and  Warren 

Acknowledge  now  that  you  have  wronged  me,  for 

although  I  break  the  laws, 
Young  Warren,  I'll  deprive  you  of  your  life." 

Then  Warren,  he  replied:  "Your  request  must  be 

denied, 

For  your  darling  to  my  heart  she  is  bound; 
And  further  I  can  say  that  this  is  our  wedding  day, 
In  spite  of  all  the  heroes  in  town." 
Then  Fuller  in  the  passion  of  his  love  and  anger 

bound, — 

Alas  1  it  caused  many  to  cry, — 
At  one  fatal  shot  killed  Warren  on  the  spot, 
And  smilingly  said,  "  I'm  ready  now  to  die." 

The  time  was  drawing  nigh  when  Fuller  had  to  die; 

He  bid  the  audience  adieu. 

Like  an  angel  he  did  stand,  for  he  was  a  handsome 

man, 

On  his  breast  he  had  a  ribbon  of  blue. 
Ten  thousand  spectators  did  smite  him  on  the  breast, 
And  the  guards  dropped  a  tear  from  the  eye, 
Saying,  "  Cursed  be  she  who  caused  this  misery, 
Would  to  God  in  his  stead  she  had  to  die." 

The  gentle  god  of  Love  looked  with  anger  from 

above  , 

And  the  rope  flew  asunder  like  the  sand. 
Two  doctors  for  the  pay  they  murdered  him,  they 

say, 

127 


Fuller  and  Warren 

They  hung  him  by  main  strength  of  hand. 

But  the  corpse  it  was  buried  and  the  doctors  lost 

their  prey, 

Oh,  that  harlot  was  bribed,  I  do  believe; 
Bad  women  to  a  certainty  are  the  downfall  of  men, 
As  Adam  was  beguiled  by  Eve. 


128 


Fuller  and  Warren 


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Puller  and  Warren—  Continued 


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THE  TRAIL  TO  MEXICO 

I  MADE  up  my  mind  to  change  my  way 
And  quit  my  crowd  that  was  so  gay, 
To  leave  my  native  home  for  a  while 
And  to  travel  west  for  many  a  mile. 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

'Twas  all  in  the  merry  month  of  May 
When  I  started  for  Texas  far  away, 
I  left  my  darling  girl  behind, — 
She  said  her  heart  was  only  mine. 

Whoo-a-whoo^a-whoo-a-whoo. 

Oh,  it  was  when  I  embraced  her  in  my  arms 

I  thought  she  had  ten  thousand  charms; 

Her  caresses  were  soft,  her  kisses  were  sweet, 

Saying,  "  We  will  get  married  next  time  we  meet." 

Whoo-a-whoo^a-whoo-a-whoo. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  eighty-three 

That  A.  J.  Stinson  hired  me. 

He  says,  "  Young  fellow,  I  want  you  to  go 

And  drive  this  herd  to  Mexico." 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

132 


The  Trail  to  Mexico 

The  first  horse  they  gave  me  was  an  old  black 
With  two  big  set- fasts  on  his  back; 
I  padded  him  with  gunny-sacks  and  my  bedding  all; 
He  went  up,  then  down,  and  I  got  a  fall. 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

The  next  they  gave  me  was  an  old  gray, 
I'll  remember  him  till  my  dying  day. 
And  if  I  had  to  swear  to  the  fact, 
I  believe  he  was  worse  off  than  the  black. 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

Oh,  it  was  early  in  the  year 
When  I  went  on  trail  to  drive  the  steer. 
I  stood  my  guard  through  sleet  and  snow 
While  on  the  trail  to  Mexico. 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

Oh,  it  was  a  long  and  lonesome  go 

As  our  herd  rolled  on  to  Mexico; 

With  laughter  light  and  the  cowboy's  song 

To  Mexico  we  rolled  along. 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

When  I  arrived  in  Mexico 
I  wanted  to  see  my  love  but  could  not  go; 

133 


The  Trail  to  Mexico 

So  I  wrote  a  letter,  a  letter  to  my  dear, 
But  not  a  word  from  her  could  I  hear. 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  once  loved  home 
I  called  for  the  darling  of  my  own; 
They  said  she  had  married  a  richer  life, 
Therefore,  wild  cowboy,  seek  another  wife. 

Whoo-a-whoo^a-whoo-a-whoo. 

Oh,  the  girl  she  is  married  I  do  adore, 
And  I  cannot  stay  at  home  any  more; 
I'll  cut  my  way  to  a  foreign  land 
Or  I'll  go  back  west  to  my  cowboy  band. 

Whoo-a-whoo^a-whoo-a-whoo. 

I'll  go  back  to  the  Western  land, 
I'll  hunt  up  my  old  cowboy  band, — 
Where  the  girls  are  few  and  the  boys  are  true 
And  a  false-hearted  love  I  never  knew. 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 

"  O  Buddie,  O  Buddie,  please  stay  at  home, 
Don't  be  forever  on  the  roam. 
There  is  many  a  girl  more  true  than  I, 
So  pray  don't  go  where  the  bullets  fly." 

Whoo-a-whoo^a-whoo-a-whoo. 


The  Trail  to  Mexico 

"  It's  curse  your  gold  and  your  silver  too, 
God  pity  a  girl  that  won't  prove  true; 
I'll  travel  West  where  the  bullets  fly, 
I'll  stay  on  the  trail  till  the  day  I  die." 

Whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo-a-whoo. 


135 


THE  HORSE  WRANGLER 

I  THOUGHT  one  spring  just  for  fun 
I'd  see  how  cow-punching  was  done, 
And  when  the  round-ups  had  begun 
I  tackled  the  cattle-king. 
Says  he,  "  My  foreman  is  in  town, 
He's  at  the  plaza,  and  his  name  is  Brown, 
If  you'll  see  him,  he'll  take  you  down." 
Says  I,  "  That's  just  the  thing." 

We  started  for  the  ranch  next  day; 

Brown  augured  me  most  all  the  way. 

He  said  that  cow-punching  was  nothing  but  play, 

That  it  was  no  work  at  all, — 

That  all  you  had  to  do  was  ride, 

And  only  drifting  with  the  tide; 

The  son  of  a  gun,  oh,  how  he  lied. 

Don't  you  think  he  had  his  gall? 

He  put  me  in  charge  of  a  cavyard, 
And  told  me  not  to  work  too  hard, 
That  all  I  had  to  do  was  guard 
The  horses  from  getting  away; 
I  had  one  hundred  and  sixty  head, 
I  sometimes  wished  that  I  was  dead ; 
When  one  got  away,  Brown's  head  turned  red, 
And  there  was  the  devil  to  pay. 

136 


The  Horse  Wrangler 

Sometimes  one  would  make  a  break, 
Across  the  prairie  he  would  take, 
As  if  running  for  a  stake, — 
It  seemed  to  them  but  play; 
Sometimes  I  could  not  head  them  at  all, 
Sometimes  my  horse  would  catch  a  fall 
And  I'd  shoot  on  like  a  cannon  ball 
Till  the  earth  came  in  my  way. 

They  saddled  me  up  an  old  gray  hack 

With  two  set-fasts  on  his  back, 

They  padded  him  down  with  a  gunny  sack 

And  used  my  bedding  all. 

When  I  got  on  he  quit  the  ground, 

Went  up  in  the  air  and  turned  around, 

And  I  came  down  and  busted  the  ground, — 

I  got  one  hell  of  a  fall. 

They  took  me  up  and  carried  me  in 

And  rubbed  me  down  with  an  old  stake  pin. 

u  That's  the  way  they  all  begin ; 

You're  doing  well,"  says  Brown. 

"  And  in  the  morning,  if  you  don't  die, 

I'll  give  you  another  horse  to  try." 

"  Oh  say,  can't  I  walk?  "  says  I. 

Says  he,  u  Yes,  back  to  town." 

I've  traveled  up  and  I've  traveled  down, 
I've  traveled  this  country  round  and  round, 
I've  lived  in  city  and  I've  lived  in  town, 

137 


The  Horse  Wrangler 

But  I've  got  this  much  to  say : 

Before  you  try  cow-punching,  kiss  your  wife, 

Take  a  heavy  insurance  on  your  life, 

Then  cut  your  throat  with  a  barlow  knife, — 

For  it's  easier  done  that  way. 


138 


CALIFORNIA  JOE 

WELL,  mates,  I  don't  like  stories; 
Or  am  I  going  to  act 
A  part  around  the  campfire 
That  ain't  a  truthful  fact? 
So  fill  your  pipes  and  listen, 
I'll  tell  you  —  let  me  see  — 
I  think  it  was  in  fifty, 
From  that  till  sixty-three. 

You've  all  heard  tell  of  Bridger; 

I  used  to  run  with  Jim, 

And  many  a  hard  day's  scouting 

I've  done  longside  of  him. 

Well,  once  near  old  Fort  Reno, 

A  trapper  used  to  dwell; 

We  called  him  old  Pap  Reynolds, 

The  scouts  all  knew  him  well. 

One  night  in  the  spring  of  fifty 
We  camped  on  Powder  River, 
And  killed  a  calf  of  buffalo 
And  cooked  a  slice  of  liver. 
While  eating,  quite  contented, 
I  heard  three  shots  or  four; 
Put  out  the  fire  and  listened, — 
We  heard  a  dozen  more. 
139 


California  Joe 

We  knew  that  old  man  Reynolds 
Had  moved  his  traps  up  here; 
So  picking  up  our  rifles 
And  fixing  on  our  gear 
We  moved  as  quick  as  lightning, 
To  save  was  our  desire. 
Too  late,  the  painted  heathens 
Had  set  the  house  on  fire. 

We  hitched  our  horses  quickly 
And  waded  up  the  stream; 
While  down  close  beside  the  waters 
I  heard  a  muffled  scream. 
And  there  among  the  bushes 
A  little  girl  did  lie. 
I  picked  her  up  and  whispered, 
"  I'll  save  you  or  I'll  die." 

Lord,  what  a  ride!     Old  Bridger 

Had  covered  my  retreat; 

Sometimes  that  child  would  whisper 

In  voice  low  and  sweet, 

"  Poor  Papa,  God  will  take  him 

To  Mama  up  above; 

There  is  no  one  left  to  love  me, 

There  is  no  one  left  to  love." 

The  little  one  was  thirteen 
And  I  was  twenty-two; 
I  says,  "  I'll  be  your  father 
140 


California  Joe 

And  love  you  just  as  true." 
She  nestled  to  my  bosom, 
Her  hazel  eyes  so  bright, 
Looked  up  and  made  me  happy, — 
The  close  pursuit  that  night. 

One  month  had  passed  and  Maggie, 
We  called  her  Hazel  Eye, 
In  truth  was  going  to  leave  me, 
Was  going  to  say  good-bye. 
Her  uncle,  Mad  Jack  Reynolds, 
Reported  long  since  dead, 
Had  come  to  claim  my  angel, 
His  brother's  child,  he  said. 

What  could  I  say?     We  parted, 

Mad  Jack  was  growing  old; 

I  handed  him  a  bank  note 

And  all  I  had  in  gold. 

They  rode  away  at  sunrise, 

I  went  a  mile  or  two, 

And  parting  says,  "We  will  meet  again; 

May  God  watch  over  you." 

By  a  laughing,  dancing  brook 
A  little  cabin  stood, 
And  weary  with  a  long  day's  scout, 
I  spied  it  in  the  wood. 
The  pretty  valley  stretched  beyond, 
The  mountains  towered  above, 
141, 


California  Joe 

And  near  its  willow  banks  I  heard 
The  cooing  of  a  dove. 

'Twas  one  grand  pleasure; 
The  brook  was  plainly  seen, 
Like  a  long  thread  of  silver 
In  a  cloth  of  lovely  green; 
The  laughter  of  the  water, 
The  cooing  of  the  dove, 
Was  like  some  painted  picture, 
Some  well-told  tale  of  love. 

While  drinking  in  the  country 
And  resting  in  the  saddle, 
I  heard  a  gentle  rippling 
Like  the  dipping  of  a  paddle, 
And  turning  to  the  water, 
A  strange  sight  met  my  view,— 
A  lady  with  her  rifle 
In  a  little  bark  canoe. 

She  stood  up  in  the  center, 
With  her  rifle  to  her  eye; 
I  thought  just  for  a  second 
My  time  had  come  to  die. 
I  doffed  my  hat  and  told  her, 
If  it  was  just  the  same, 
To  drop  her  little  shooter, 
For  I  was  not  her  game. 

142 


California  Joe 

She  dropped  the  deadly  weapon 
And  leaped  from  the  canoe. 
Says  she,  "  I  beg  your  pardon; 
I  thought  you  was  a  Sioux. 
Your  long  hair  and  your  buckskin 
Looked  warrior-like  and  rough; 
My  bead  was  spoiled  by  sunshine, 
Or  I'd  have  killed  you  sure  enough." 

"  Perhaps  it  wouldVe  been  better 
If  you'd  dropped  me  then,"  says  I ; 
"  For  surely  such  an  angel 
Would  bear  me  to  the  sky." 
She  blushingly  dropped  her  eyelids, 
Her  cheeks  were  crimson  red ; 
One  half-shy  glance  she  gave  me 
And  then  hung  down  her  head. 

I  took  her  little  hand  in  mine; 
She  wondered  what  it  meant, 
And  yet  she  drew  it  not  away, 
But  rather  seemed  content. 
We  sat  upon  the  mossy  bank, 
Her  eyes  began  to  fill ; 
The  brook  was  rippling  at  our  feet, 
The  dove  was  cooing  still. 

'Tis  strong  arms  were  thrown  around  her. 
"  I'll  save  you  or  I'll  die." 
I  clasped  her  to  my  bosom, 
H3 


California  Joe 

My  long  lost  Hazel  Eye. 
The  rapture  of  that  moment 
Was  almost  heaven  to  me; 
I  kissed  her  'mid  the  tear-drops, 
Her  merriment  and  glee. 

Her  heart  near  mine  was  beating 

When  sobbingly  she  said, 

"  My  dear,  my  brave  preserver, 

They  told  me  you  were  dead. 

But  oh,  those  parting  words,  Joe, 

Have  never  left  my  mind, 

You  said,  4  We'll  meet  again,  Mag,' 

Then  rode  off  like  the  wind. 

"  And  oh,  how  I  have  prayed,  Joe, 
For  you  who  saved  my  life, 
That  God  would  send  an  angel 
To  guide  you  through  all  strife. 
The  one  who  claimed  me  from  you, 
My  Uncle,  good  and  true, 
Is  sick  in  yonder  cabin; 
Has  talked  so  much  of  you. 

"  '  If  Joe  were  living  darling,' 
He  said  to  me  last  night, 
*  He  would  care  for  you,  Maggie, 
When  God  puts  out  my  light.'  ' 
We  found  the  old  man  sleeping. 
"  Hush,  Maggie,  let  him  rest." 
144 


California  Joe 

The  sun  was  slowly  setting 
In  the  far-off,  glowing  West. 

And  though  we  talked  in  whispers 

He  opened  wide  his  eyes: 

"  A  dream,  a  dream,"  he  murmured, 

"  Alas,  a  dream  of  lies." 

She  drifted  like  a  shadow 

To  where  the  old  man  lay. 

"  You  had  a  dream,  dear  Uncle, 

Another  dream  to-day?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  saw  an  angel 

As  pure  as  mountain  snow, 

And  near  her  at  my  bedside 

Stood  California  Joe." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  not  an  angel, 

Dear  Uncle,  that  you  know; 

These  hands  that  hold  your  hand,  too, 

My  face  is  not  like  snow. 

"  Now  listen  while  I  tell  you, 
For  I  have  news  to  cheer; 
Hazel  Eye  is  happy, 
For  Joe  is  truly  here." 
It  was  but  a  few  days  after 
The  old  man  said  to  me, 
"  Joe,  boy,  she  is  an  angel, 
And  good  as  angels  be. 


California  Joe 

"  For  three  long  months  she  hunted, 
And  trapped  and  nursed  me  too ; 
God  bless  you,  boy,  I  believe  it, 
She's  safe  along  with  you." 
The  sun  was  slowly  sinking, 
When  Maggie,  my  wife,  and  I 
Went  riding  through  the  valley, 
The  tear-drops  in  her  eye. 

"  One  year  ago  to-day,  Joe, 
I  saw  the  mossy  grave; 
We  laid  him  neath  the  daisies, 
My  Uncle,  good  and  brave." 
And  comrade,  every  springtime 
Is  sure  to  find  me  there; 
There  is  something  in  the  valley 
That  is  always  fresh  and  fair. 

Our  love  is  always  kindled 
While  sitting  by  the  stream, 
Where  two  hearts  were  united 
In  love's  sweet  happy  dream. 


146 


THE  BOSTON  BURGLAR 

I    WAS  born  in  Boston  City,  a  city  you  all  know 
well, 
Brought  up  by  honest  parents,  the  truth  to  you  I'll 

tell, 

Brought  up  by  honest  parents  and  raised  most  ten- 
derly, 

Till  I  became  a  roving  man  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
three. 

My  character  was  taken  then,  and  I  was  sent  to  jail. 
My  friends  they  found  it  was  in  vain  to  get  me  out 

on  bail. 

The  jury  found  me  guilty,  the  clerk  he  wrote  it  down, 
The  judge  he  passed  me  sentence  and  I  was  sent  to 

Charleston  town. 

You  ought  to  have  seen  my  aged  father  a-pleading  at 
the  bar, 

Also  my  dear  old  mother  a-tearing  of  her  hair, 

Tearing  of  her  old  gray  locks  as  the  tears  came  roll- 
ing down, 

Saying,  "  Son,  dear  son,  what  have  you  done,  that 
you  are  sent  to  Charleston  town?  " 

They  put  me  aboard  an  eastbound  train  one  cold 
December  day, 

147 


The  Boston  Burglar 

And  every  station  that  we  passed,  I'd  hear  the  people 

say, 
"  There  goes  a  noted  burglar,  in  strong  chains  he'll 

be  bound, — 
For  the  doing  of  some  crime  or  other  he  is  sent  to 

Charleston  town." 

There  is  a  girl  in  Boston,  she  is  a  girl  that  I  love  well, 
And  if  I  ever  gain  my  liberty,  along  with  her  I'll 

dwell; 
And  when  I  regain  my  liberty,  bad  company  I  will 

shun, 
Night-walking,  gambling,  and  also  drinking  rum. 

Now,  you  who  have  your  liberty,  pray  keep  it  if  you 

can, 
And  don't  go  around  the  streets  at  night  to  break  the 

laws  of  man; 
For  if  you  do  you'll  surely  rue  and  find  yourself  like 

me, 
A-serving  out  my  twenty-one  years  in  the  penitentiary. 


148 


SAM  BASS 

SAM    BASS   was   born   in    Indiana,    it  was   his 
native  home, 
And  at  the  age  of  seventeen  young  Sam  began  to 

roam. 

Sam  first  came  out  to  Texas  a  cowboy  for  to  be, — 
A  kinder-hearted  fellow  you  seldom  ever  see. 

Sam   used   to    deal   in   race   stock,   one   called   the 

Denton  mare, 
He  matched  her  in  scrub  races,  and  took  her  to  the 

Fair. 

Sam  used  to  coin  the  money  and  spent  it  just  as  free, 
He  always  drank  good  whiskey  wherever  he  might  be. 

Sam  left  the  Collin's  ranch  in  the  merry  month  of 

May 
With  a  herd  of  Texas  cattle  the  Black  Hills  for  to 

see, 

Sold  out  in  Custer  City  and  then  got  on  a  spree, — 
A  harder  set  of  cowboys  you  seldom  ever  see. 

On  their  way  back  to  Texas  they  robbed  the  U.  P. 

train, 

And  then  split  up  in  couples  and  started  out  again. 
Joe  Collins  and  his  partner  were  overtaken  soon, 
With  all  their  hard-earned  money  they  had  to  meet 

their  doom. 

149 


Sam  Bass 

Sam  made  it  back  to  Texas  all  right  side  up  with 

care; 
Rode  into  the  town  of  Denton  with  all  his  friends  to 

share. 
Sam's  life  was  short  in  Texas;  three  robberies  did 

he  do, 
He  robbed  all  the  passenger,  mail,  and  express  cars 

too. 

Sam  had  four  companions  —  four  bold  and  daring 

lads  — 
They  were  Richardson,  Jackson,  Joe  Collins,  and  Old 

Dad; 
Four  more  bold   and  daring  cowboys   the   rangers 

never  knew, 
They  whipped  the  Texas  rangers  and  ran  the  boys  in 

blue. 

Sam  had  another  companion,   called  Arkansas  for 

short, 
Was  shot  by  a  Texas  ranger  by  the  name  of  Thomas 

Floyd ; 
Oh,  Tom  is  a  big  six-footer  and  thinks  he's  mighty 

fly, 

But  I  can  tell  you  his  racket, —  he's  a  deadbeat  on 
the  sly. 

Jim   Murphy  was  arrested,   and  then  released  on 
bail; 


150 


Sam  Bass 

He  jumped  his  bond  at  Tyler  and  then  took  the  train 

for  Terrell; 
But  Mayor  Jones  had  posted  Jim  and  that  was  all  a 

stall, 
'Twas  only  a  plan  to  capture  Sam  before  the  coming 

fall. 

Sam  met  his  fate  at  Round  Rock,  July  the  twenty- 
first, 

They  pierced  poor  Sam  with  rifle  balls  and  emptied 
out  his  purse. 

Poor  Sam  he  is  a  corpse  and  six  foot  under  clay, 

And  Jackson's  in  the  bushes  trying  to  get  away. 

Jim  had  borrowed  Sam's  good  gold  and  didn't  want 

to  pay, 

The  only  shot  he  saw  was  to  give  poor  Sam  away. 
He  sold  out  Sam  and  Barnes  and  left  their  friends  to 

mourn, — 
Oh,  what  a  scorching  Jim  will  get  when  Gabriel 

blows  his  horn. 

And  so  he  sold  out  Sam  and  Barnes  and  left  their 

friends  to  mourn, 
Oh,  what  a  scorching  Jim  will  get  when  Gabriel 

blows  his  horn. 
Perhaps  he's  got  to  heaven,  there's  none  of  us  can 

say, 
But  if  I'm  right  in  my  surmise  he's  gone  the  other 

way. 


Sam  Bass 


IS  N 


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Sam  Bass    was    born      in      In   -    di  -  an  -    a,         It 


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Sam  Bass— Concluded 


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3E 

THE  ZEBRA  DUN 

WE  were  camped  on  the  plains  at  the  head  of 
the  Cimarron 
When  along  came  a  stranger  and  stopped  to  arger 

some. 
He  looked  so  very  foolish  that  we  began  to  look 

around, 

We  thought  he  was  a  greenhorn  that  had  just  'scaped 
from  town. 

We  asked  if  he  had  been  to  breakfast ;  he  hadn't  had 

a  smear, 
So  we  opened  up  the  chuck-box  and  bade  him  have 

his  share. 
He  took  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  biscuits  and  some 

beans, 
And  then  began  to  talk  and  tell  about  foreign  kings 

and  queens, — 

About  the  Spanish  war  and  fighting  on  the  seas 
With   guns   as  big   as   steers   and   ramrods   big  as 

trees, — 
And  about  old  Paul  Jones,  a  mean,  fighting  son  of  a 

gun, 
Who  was  the  grittiest  cuss  that  ever  pulled  a  gun. 

Such  an  educated  feller  his  thoughts  just  came  in 
herds, 

154 


The  Zebra  Dun 

He   astonished   all   them   cowboys   with   them  jaw- 
breaking  words. 

He  just  kept  on  talking  till  he  made  the  boys  all  sick, 
And  they  began  to  look  around  just  how  to  play  a 
trick. 

He  said  he  had  lost  his  job  upon  the  Santa  Fe 
And  was  going  across  the  plains  to  strike  the  y-D. 
He  didn't  say  how  come  it,  some  trouble  with  the 

boss, 
But  said  he'd  like  to  borrow  a  nice  fat  saddle  hoss. 

This  tickled  all  the  boys  to  death,  they  laughed  way 

down  in  their  sleeves, — 
"  We  will  lend  you  a  horse  just  as  fresh  and  fat  as 

you  please." 

Shorty  grabbed  a  lariat  and  roped  the  Zebra  Dun 
And  turned  him  over  to  the  stranger  and  waited  for 

the  fun. 

Old  Dunny  was  a  rocky  outlaw  that  had  grown  so 

awful  wild 
That  he  could  paw  the  white  out  of  the  moon  every 

jump  for  a  mile. 
Old    Dunny    stood    right    still, —  as    if    he    didn't 

know, — 
Until  he  was  saddled  and  ready  for  to  go. 

When  the  stranger  hit  the  saddle,  old  Dunny  quit 
the  earth 

155 


The  Zebra  Dun 

And  traveled  right  straight  up  for  all  that  he  was 

worth. 

A-pitching  and  a-squealing,  a-having  wall-eyed  fits, 
His  hind  feet  perpendicular,  his  front  ones  in  the 

bits. 

We  could  see  the  tops  of  the  mountains  under  Dunny 

every  jump, 
But  the  stranger  he  was  growed  there  just  like  the 

camel's  hump; 
The  stranger  sat  upon  him  and  curled  his  black 

mustache 
Just  like  a  summer  boarder  waiting  for  his  hash. 

He  thumped  him  in  the  shoulders  and  spurred  him 

when  he  whirled, 
To  show  them  flunky  punchers  that  he  was  the  wolf 

of  the  world. 
When  the  stranger  had  dismounted  once  more  upon 

the  ground, 
We  knew  he  was  a  thoroughbred  and  not  a  gent 

from  town; 

The  boss  who  was  standing  round  watching  of  the 

show, 
Walked  right  up  to  the  stranger  and  told  him  he 

needn't  go, — 
"  If  you  can  use  the  lasso  like  you  rode  old  Zebra 

Dun, 


156 


The  Zebra  Dun 

You  are  the  man  I've  been  looking  for  ever  since  the 
year  one." 

Oh,  he  could  twirl  the  lariat  and  he  didn't  do  it  slow, 
He  could  catch  them  fore  feet  nine  out  of  ten  for  any 

kind  of  dough. 
And  when  the  herd  stampeded  he  was  always  on  the 

spot 
And  set  them  to  nothing,  like  the  boiling  of  a  pot. 

There's  one  thing  and  a  shore  thing  I've  learned 

since  IVe  been  born, 
That  every  educated  feller  ain't  a  plumb  greenhorn. 


157 


c 


THE  BUFFALO  SKINNERS 

|OME  all  you  jolly  fellows  and  listen  to  my 

song, 
There  are  not  many  verses,  it  will  not  detain  you 

long; 
It's  concerning  some  young  fellows  who  did  agree 

to  go 

And  spend  one  summer  pleasantly  on  the  range  of  the 
buffalo. 

It  happened  in  Jacksboro  in  the  spring  of  seventy- 
three, 

A  man  by  the  name  of  Crego  came  stepping  up  to 
me, 

Saying,  "  How  do  you  do-,  young  fellow,  and  how 
would  you  like  to  go 

And  spend  one  summer  pleasantly  on  the  range  of 
the  buffalo?" 

"  It's  me  being  out  of  employment,"  this  to  Crego 

I  did  say, 
"  This  going  out  on  the  buffalo  range  depends  upon 

the  pay. 
But  if  you  will  pay  good  wages  and  transportation 

too, 
I  think,  sir,  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  range  of  the 

buffalo." 

158 


The  Buffalo  Skinners 

"  Yes,  I  will  pay  good  wages,  give  transportation 

too, 
Provided  you  will  go  with  me  and  stay  the  summer 

through ; 
But  if  you  should  grow  homesick,   come  back  to 

Jacksboro, 
I  won't  pay  transportation  from  the  range  of  the 

buffalo." 

It's  now  our  outfit  was  complete  —  seven  able- 
bodied  men, 

With  navy  six  and  needle  gun  —  our  troubles  did 
begin ; 

Our  way  it  was  a  pleasant  one,  the  route  we  had  to 

g°» 

Until  we  crossed  Pease  River  on  the  range  of  the 
buffalo. 

It's  now  we've  crossed  Pease  River,  our  troubles 

have  begun. 
The  first  damned  tail  I  went  to  rip,  Christ!  how  I 

cut  my  thumb! 
While  skinning  the  damned  old  stinkers  our  lives 

wasn't  a  show, 
For  the  Indians  watched  to  pick  us  off  while  skinning 

the  buffalo. 

He  fed  us  on  such  sorry  chuck  I  wished  myself  most 

dead, 
It  was  old  jerked  beef,  croton  coffee,  and  sour  bread. 


The  Buffalo  Skinners 

Pease  River's  as  salty  as  hell  fire,  the  water  I  could 

never  go, — 
O  God!  I  wished  I  had  never  come  to  the  range  of 

the  buffalo. 

Our  meat  it  was  buffalo  hump  and  iron  wedge  bread, 
And  all  we  had  to  sleep  on  was  a  buffalo  robe  for  a 

bed; 
The  fleas  and  gray-backs  worked  on  us,  O  boys,  it 

was  not  slow, 
I'll  tell  you  there's  no  worse  hell  on  earth  than  the 

range  of  the  buffalo. 

Our  hearts  were  cased  with  buffalo  hocks,  our  souls 

were  cased  with  steel, 
And  the  hardships  of  that  summer  would  nearly 

make  us  reel. 
While  skinning  the  damned  old  stinkers  our  lives 

they  had  no  show, 
For  the  Indians  waited  to  pick  us  off  on  the  hills  of 

Mexico. 

The  season  being  near  over,  old  Crego  he  did  say 
The  crowd  had  been  extravagant,  was  in  debt  to 

him  that  day,  — 
We  coaxed  him  and  we  begged  him  and  still  it  was 

no  go, — 
We  left  old  Crego's  bones  to  bleach  on  the  range  of 

the  buffalo. 


160 


The  Buffalo  Skinners 

Oh,  it's  now  weVe  crossed  Pease  River  and  home- 
ward we  are  bound, 

No  more  in  that  hell-fired  country  shall  ever  we  be 
found. 

Go  home  to  our  wives  and  sweethearts,  tell  others 
not  to  go, 

For  God's  forsaken  the  buffalo  range  and  the 
damned  old  buffalo. 


161 


Range  of  the  Buffalo 


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spend  one  summer  sea-son  On   the  range  of  the  Bnf  -  fa  -  lor 


MACAFFIE'S  CONFESSION 

NOW  come  young  men  and  list  to  me, 
A  sad  and  mournful  history; 
And  may  you  ne'er  forgetful  be 
Of  what  I  tell  this  day  to  thee. 

Oh,  I  was  thoughtless,  young,  and  gay 
And  often  broke  the  Sabbath  day, 
In  wickedness  I  took  delight 
And  sometimes  done  what  wasn't  right. 

I'd  scarcely  passed  my  fifteenth  year, 
My  mother  and  my  father  dear 
Were  silent  in  their  deep,  dark  grave, 
Their  spirits  gone  to  Him  who  gave. 

'Twas  on  a  pleasant  summer  day 
When  from  my  home  I  ran  away 
And  took  unto  myself  a  wife, 
Which  step  was  fatal  to  my  life. 

Oh,  she  was  kind  and  good  to  me 

As  ever  woman  ought  to  be, 

And  might  this  day  have  been  alive  no  doubt, 

Had  I  not  met  Miss  Hatty  Stout. 

Ah,  well  I  mind  the  fatal  day 
When  Hatty  stole  my  heart  away; 
164 


Macaffie's  Confession 

'Twas  love  for  her  controlled  my  will 
And  did  cause  me  my  wife  to  kill. 

'Twas  on  a  brilliant  summer's  night 
When  all  was  still;  the  stars  shone  bright. 
My  wife  lay  still  upon  the  bed 
And  I  approached  to  her  and  said: 

Dear  wife,  here's  medicine  I've  brought, 
For  you  this  day,  my  love,  I've  bought. 
I  know  it  will  be  good  for  you 
For  those  vile  fits, —  pray  take  it,  do." 

She  cast  on  me  a  loving  look 

And  in  her  mouth  the  poison  took; 

Down  by  her  infant  on  the  bed 

In  her  last,  long  sleep  she  laid  her  head. 

Oh,  who  could  tell  a  mother's  thought 
When  first  to  her  the  news  was  brought; 
The  sheriff  said  her  son  was  sought 
And  into  prison  must  be  brought. 

Only  a  mother  standing  by 
To  hear  them  tell  the  reason  why 
Her  son  in  prison,  he  must  lie 
Till  on  the  scaffold  he  must  die. 

My  father,  sixty  years  of  age, 
The  best  of  counsel  did  engage, 
165 


Macaffie's  Confession 

To  see  if  something  could  be  done 
To  save  his  disobedient  son. 

So,  farewell,  mother,  do  not  weep, 
Though  soon  with  demons  I  will  sleep, 
My  soul  now  feels  its  mental  hell 
And  soon  with  demons  I  will  dwell. 


The  sheriff  cut  the  slender  cord, 
His  soul  went  up  to  meet  its  Lord; 
The  doctor  said,  "  The  wretch  is  dead, 
His  spirit  from  his  body's  fled." 

His  weeping  mother  cried  aloud, 
"  O  God,  do  save  this  gazing  crowd, 
That  none  may  ever  have  to  pay 
For  gambling  on  the  Sabbath  day." 


166 


LITTLE   JOE,   THE   WRANGLER 

IT'S  little  Joe,  the  wrangler,  he'll  wrangle  never 
more, 

His  days  with  the  remnda  they  are  o'er ; 
'Twas  a  year  ago  last  April  when  he  rode  into  our 

camp, — 

Just  a  little  Texas  stray  and  all  alone, — 
On  a  little  Texas  pony  he  called  "  Chaw." 
With  his  brogan  shoes  and  overalls,  a  tougher  kid 
You  never  in  your  life  before  had  saw. 

His  saddle  was  a  Texas  "  kak,"  built  many  years 
ago, 

With  an  O.  K.  spur  on  one  foot  lightly  swung; 

His  "  hot  roll "  in  a  cotton  sack  so  loosely  tied  be- 
hind, 

And  his  canteen  from  his  saddle-horn  was  swung. 

He  said  that  he  had  to  leave  his  home,  his  pa  had 
married  twice ; 

And  his  new  ma  whipped  him  every  day  or  two; 

So  he  saddled  up  old  Chaw  one  night  and  lit  a  shuck 
this  way, 

And  he's  now  trying  to  paddle  his  own  canoe. 

He  said  if  we  would  give  him  work,  he'd  do  the  best 

he  could, 

Though  he  didn't  know  straight  up  about  a  cow ; 

167 


Little  Joe,   The  Wrangler 

So  the  boss  he  cut  him  out  a  mount  and  kindly  put 

him  on, 

For  he  sorta  liked  this  little  kid  somehow. 
Learned  him  to  wrangle  horses  and  to  try  to  know 

them  all, 

And  get  them  in  at  daylight  if  he  could; 
To  follow  the  chuck-wagon  and  always  hitch  the 

team, 
And  to  help  the  cocinero  rustle  wood. 

We  had  driven  to  the  Pecos,  the  weather  being  fine ; 
We  had  camped  on  the  south  side  in  a  bend; 
When  a  norther  commenced  blowin',  we  had  doubled 

up  our  guard, 

For  it  taken  all  of  us  to  hold  them  in. 
Little  Joe,  the  wrangler,  was  called  out  with  the  rest ; 
Though  the  kid  had  scarcely  reached  the  herd, 
When  the  cattle  they  stampeded,  like  a  hailstorm 

long  they  fled, 
Then  we  were  all  a-ridin'  for  the  lead. 

'Midst  the  streaks  of  lightin'  a  horse  we  could  see  in 

the  lead, 

'Twas  Little  Joe,  the  wrangler,  in  the  lead ; 
He  was  riding  Old  Blue  Rocket  with  a  slicker  o'er 

his  head, 

A  tryin'  to  check  the  cattle  in  their  speed. 
At  last  we  got  them  milling  and  kinda  quieted  down, 
And  the  extra  guard  back  to  the  wagon  went; 


168 


Little  Joe,   The  Wrangler 

But  there  was  one  a-missin'  and  we  knew  it  at  a 

glance, 
'Twas  our  little  Texas  stray,  poor  Wrangling  Joe. 

The  next  morning  just  at  day  break,  we  found  where 

Rocket  fell, 

Down  in  a  washout  twenty  feet  below ; 
And  beneath  the  horse,  mashed  to  a  pulp, —  his  spur 

had  rung  the  knell, — 
Was  our  little  Texas  stray,  poor  Wrangling  Joe. 


169 


Little  Joe,  The  Wrangler 


Lit  -  tie  Joe,   the  wran-gler,   He'll  wran  -  gle  nev  -  er-more, 

rode    up     to      our  herd 


I 


m 


m 


3^ 


His        days    with  the    re  -  mu  -  da  they    are    o'er; 
On      a    lit   -  tie    Tex -as   Po  -ny   he   call'dChaw; 


jO=l 

t^ 


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«££-*- 

a  —  *-     -ii-  -*- 

a  

'Twas  a    year    a  -  go  last  A  -  pril       he  rode    in  -  to    our  herd; 
With  his  bro  -  gan  shoes  and  o  -  veralls,  a  tough-er  look-in'  kid 


=*: 


Little  Joe,  The  Wrangler—  Concluded 


Fine 


II 


h IV 


Just  a      lit-  tie   Tex  -  as  stray,and  all       a  -  lone. 
You. .     nev-er     in  your  life    be-fore  had  saw. 


D.8. 


m 


It        was        late          in        the       eve    -    ning         he 


—A — iv 

f=^     =^£ 


HARRY  BALE 

GOME  all  kind  friends  and  kindred  dear  and 
Christians  young  and  old, 
A  story  I'll  relate  to  you,  'twill  make  your  blood  run 

cold; 
'Tis  all  about  an  unfortunate  boy  who  lived  not  far 

from  here, 

In  the  township  of  Arcade  in  the  County  of  Lapeer. 
It  seems  his  occupation  was  a  sawyer  in  a  mill, 
He  followed  it  successfully  two  years,  one  month, 

until, 
Until  this  fatal  accident  that  caused  many  to  weep 

and  wail; 
'Twas  where  this  young  man  lost  his  life, —  his  name 

was  Harry  Bale. 

On  the  29th  of  April  in  the  year  of  seventy-nine, 

He  went  to  work  as  usual,  no  fear  did  he  design ; 

In  lowering  of  the  feed  bar  throwing  the  carriage 
into  gear 

It  brought  him  down  upon  the  saw  and  cut  him  quite 
severe; 

It  cut  him  through  the  collar-bone  and  half  way 
down  the  back, 

It  threw  him  down  upon  the  saw,  the  carriage  com- 
ing back. 


172 


Harry  Bale 

He  started  for  the  shanty,  his  strength  was  failing 

fast; 
He  said,  "  Oh,  boys,  I'm  wounded:  I  fear  it  is  my 

last." 

His  brothers  they  were  sent  for,  likewise  his  sisters 

too, 
The  doctors  came  and  dressed  his  wound,  but  kind 

words  proved  untrue. 

Poor  Harry  had  no  father  to  weep  beside  his  bed, 
No  kind  and  loving  mother  to  sooth  his  aching  head. 
He  was  just  as  gallant  a  young  man  as  ever  you 

wished  to  know, 
But  he  withered  like  a  flower,  it  was  his  time  to  go. 

They  placed  him  in  his  coffin  and  laid  him  in  his 

grave; 
His  brothers   and  sisters   mourned   the   loss   of   a 

brother  so  true  and  brave. 
They  took  him  to  the  graveyard  and  laid  him  away 

to  rest, 
His  body  lies  mouldering,  his  soul  is  among  the  blest. 


173 


FOREMAN  MONROE 

GOME  all  you  brave  young  shanty  boys,  and  list 
while  I  relate 
Concerning  a  young  shanty  boy   and  his  untimely 

fate; 
Concerning  a  young  river  man,  so  manly,  true  and 

brave ; 

'Twas  on  a  jam  at  Gerry's  Rock  he  met  his  watery 
grave; 

'Twas  on  a  Sunday  morning  as  you  will  quickly  hear, 
Our  logs  were  piled  up  mountain  high,  we  could  not 

keep  them  clear. 
Our   foreman   said,    "  Come   on,   brave   boys,   with 

hearts  devoid  of  fear, 
We'll  break  the  jam  on  Gerry's  Rock  and  for  Agons- 

town  we'll  steer." 

Now,  some  of  them  were  willing,  while  others  they 
were  not, 

All  for  to  work  on  Sunday  they  did  not  think  they 
ought; 

But  six  of  our  brave  shanty  boys  had  volunteered 
to  go 

And  break  the  jam  on  Gerry's  Rock  with  their  fore- 
man, young  Monroe. 


174 


Foreman  Monroe 

They  had  not  rolled  off  many  logs  'till  they  heard 

his  clear  voice  say, 
"  I'd  have  you  boys  be  on  your  guard,  for  the  jam 

will  soon  give  way." 
These  words  he'd  scarcely  spoken  when  the  jam  did 

break  and  go, 
Taking  with  it  six  of  those  brave  boys  and  their 

foreman,  young  Monroe. 

Now  when  those  other  shanty  boys  this  sad  news 

came  to  hear, 
In  search  of  their  dead  comrades  to  the  river  they 

did  steer; 

Six  of  their  mangled  bodies  a-floating  down  did  go, 
While  crushed  and  bleeding  near  the  banks  lay  the 

foreman,  young  Monroe. 

They  took  him  from  his  watery  grave,  brushed  back 

his  raven  hair; 
There  was  a  fair  form  among  them  whose  cries  did 

rend  the  air; 
There  was  a  fair  form  among  them,  a  girl  from  Sag- 

inaw  town, 
Whose  cries  rose  to  the  skies  for  her  lover  who'd 

gone  down. 

Fair  Clara  was  a  noble  girl,  the  river-man's  true 

friend ; 
She  and  her  widowed  mother  lived  at  the  river's 

bend; 

175 


Foreman  Monroe 

And  the  wages  of  her  own  true  love  the  boss  to  her 

did  pay, 
But  the  shanty  boys  for  her  made  up  a  generous  sum 

next  day. 

They  buried  him  quite  decently;  'twas  on  the  first 

of  May; 
Come  all  you  brave  young  shanty  boys  and  for  your 

comrade  pray. 
Engraved  upon  the  hemlock  tree  that  by  the  grave 

does  grow 
Is  the  aged  date  and  the  sad  fate  of  the  foreman, 

young  Monroe. 

Fair  Clara  did  not  long  survive,  her  heart  broke 

with  her  grief; 
And  less  than  three  months  afterwards  Death  came 

to  her  relief; 
And  when  the  time  had  come  and  she  was  called 

to  go, 
Her  last  request  was  granted,  to  be  laid  by  young 

Monroe. 

Come  all  you  brave  young  shanty  boys,  I'd  have  you 

call  and  see 
Two  green  graves  by  the  river  side  where  grows  a 

hemlock  tree; 
The  shanty  boys  cut  off  the  wood  where  lay  those 

lovers  low, — 
'Tis  the  handsome  Clara  Vernon  and  her  true  love, 

Jack  Monroe. 

176 


THE   DREARY   BLACK  HILLS 

KIND  friends,  you  must  pity  my  horrible  tale, 
I  am  an  object  of  pity,  I  am  looking  quite  stale, 
I  gave  up  my  trade  selling  Right's  Patent  Pills 
To  go  hunting  gold  in  the  dreary  Black  Hills. 

Don't  go  away,  stay  at  home  if  you  can, 
Stay  away  from  that  city,  they  call  it  Cheyenne, 
For  big  Walipe  or  Comanche  Bills 
They  will  lift  up  your  hair  on  the  dreary  Black 
Hills. 

The  round-house  in  Cheyenne  is  filled  every  night 
With  loafers  and  bummers  of  most  every  plight; 
On  their  backs  is  no  clothes,  in  their  pockets  no  bills, 
Each  day  they  keep  starting  for  the  dreary  Black 
Hills. 

I  got  to  Cheyenne,  no  gold  could  I  find, 

I  thought  of  the  lunch  route  I'd  left  far  behind; 

Through  rain,  hail,  and  snow,  frozen  plumb  to  the 

gills, — 
They  call  me  the  orphan  of  the  dreary  Black  Hills. 

Kind  friend,  to  conclude,  my  advice  I'll  unfold, 
Don't  go  to  the  Black  Hills  a-hunting  for  gold; 
Railroad  speculators  their  pockets  you'll  fill 
By  taking  a  trip  to  those  dreary  Black  Hills. 

177 


The  Dreary  Black  Hills 

Don't  go  away,  stay  at  home  if  you  can, 
Stay  away  from  that  city,  they  call  it  Cheyenne, 
For  old  Sitting  Bull  or  Comanche  Bills 
They  will  take  off  your  scalp  on  the  dreary  Black 
Hills. 


178 


The  Dreary  Black  Hills 


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The  Dreary  Black  Hills—  Continued 


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A  MORMON  SONG 

I  USED  to  live  on  Cottonwood  and  owned  a  little 
farm, 

I  was  called  upon  a  mission  that  gave  me  much  alarm ; 
The  reason  that  they  called  me,  I'm  sure  I  do  not 

know. 

But  to  hoe  the  cane  and  cotton,  straightway  I  must 
go. 

I  yoked  up  Jim  and  Baldy,  all  ready  for  the  start ; 
To  leave  my  farm  and  garden,  it  almost  broke  my 

heart; 

But  at  last  we  got  started,  I  cast  a  look  behind, 
For  the   sand   and   rocks   of   Dixie   were    running 

through  my  mind. 

Now,  when  we  got  to  Black  Ridge,  my  wagon  it 

broke  down, 
And  I,   being  no   carpenter  and   forty  miles   from 

town, — 

I  cut  a  clumsy  cedar  and  rigged  an  awkward  slide, 
But  the  wagon  ran  so  heavy  poor  Betsy  couldn't  ride. 

While  Betsy  was  out  walking  I  told  her  to  take  care, 
When  all  of  a  sudden  she  struck  a  prickly  pear, 
Then  she   began   to  hollow   as   loud   as   she   could 

bawl, — 

If  I  were  back  in  Cottonwood,  I  wouldn't  go  at  all. 

182 


A  Mormon  Song 

Now,  when  we  got  to  Sand  Ridge,  we  couldn't  go  at 

all, 

Old  Jim  and  old  Baldy  began  to  puff  and  loll, 
I  cussed  and  swore  a  little,  for  I  couldn't  make  the 

route, 
For  the  team  and  I  and  Betsy  were  all  of  us  played 

out. 

At  length  we  got  to  Washington;  I  thought  we'd 

stay  a  while 

To  see  if  the  flowers  would  make  their  virgin  smile, 
But  I  was  much  mistaken,  for  when  we  went  away 
The  red  hills  of  September  were  just  the  same  in 

May. 

It  is  so  very  dreary,  there's  nothing  here  to  cheer, 
But  old  pathetic  sermons  we  very  often  hear; 
They  preach  them  by  the  dozens  and  prove  them  by 

the  book, 
But  I'd  sooner  have  a  roasting-ear  and  stay  at  home 

and  cook. 

I  am  so  awful  weary  I'm  sure  I'm  almost  dead; 
'Tis  six  long  weeks  last  Sunday  since  I  have  tasted 

bread; 
Of  turnip-tops  and  lucerne  greens  I've  had  enough 

to  eat, 
But  I'd  like  to  change  my  diet  to  buckwheat  cakes 

and  meat. 


183 


A  Mormon  Song 

I  had  to  sell  my  wagon  for  sorghum  seed  and  bread ; 
Old  Jim  and  old  Baldy  have  long  since  been  dead. 
There  's  no  one  left  but  me  and  Bet  to  hoe  the  cotton 

tree, — 
God  pity  any  Mormon  that  attempts  to  follow  me ! 


184 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNTERS 

GOME  all  you  pretty  girls,  to  you  these  lines  I'll 
write, 

We  are  going  to  the  range  in  which  we  take  delight; 
We  are  going  on  the  range  as  we  poor  hunters  do, 
And  the  tender-footed  fellows  can  stay  at  home  with 
you. 

It's  all  of  the  day  long  as  we  go  tramping  round 
In  search  of  the  buffalo  that  we  may  shoot  him 

down; 
Our  guns  upon  our  shoulders,  our  belts  of  forty 

rounds, 
We  send  them  up  Salt  River  to  some  happy  hunting 

grounds. 

Our  game,  it  is  the  antelope,  the  buffalo,  wolf,  and 

deer, 

Who  roam  the  wide  prairies  without  a  single  fear  ; 
We  rob  him  of  his  robe  and  think  it  is  no  harm, 
To  buy  us  food  and  clothing  to  keep  our  bodies 

warm. 

The  buffalo,  he  is  the  noblest  of  the  band, 
He  sometimes  rejects  in  throwing  up  his  hand. 
His  shaggy  main  thrown  forward,  his  head  raised 
to  the  sky, 

185 


The  Buffalo  Hunters 

He  seems  to  say,  "  We're  coming,  boys ;  so  hunter, 

mind  your  eye." 

« 

Our  fires  are  made  of  mesquite  roots,  our  beds  are 

on  the  ground; 
Our  houses  made  of  buffalo  hides,  we  make  them 

tall  and  round; 
Pur  furniture  is  the  camp  kettle,  the  coffee  pot,  and 

pan, 
Our  chuck  it  is  both  bread  and  meat,  mingled  well 

with  sand. 

Our  neighbors  are  the  Cheyennes,  the  'Rapahoes,  and 
Sioux, 

Their  mode  of  navigation  is  a  buffalo-hide  canoe. 

And  when  they  come  upon  you  they  take  you  un- 
aware, 

And  such  a  peculiar  way  they  have  of  raising 
hunter's  hair. 


1 86 


THE  LITTLE  OLD  SOD  SHANTY 

I   AM  looking  rather  seedy  now  while  holding 
down  my  claim, 

And  my  victuals  are  not  always  served  the  best; 
And  the  mice  play  shyly  round  me  as  I  nestle  down 

to  rest 
In  my  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

rThe  hinges  are  of  leather  and  the  windows  have 

no  glass, 

While  the  board  roof  lets  the  howling  blizzards  in, 
And  I  hear  the  hungry  cayote  as  he  slinks  up 

through  the  grass 
Round  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

Yet,  I  rather  like  the  novelty  of  living  in  this  way, 
Though  my  bill  of  fare  is  always  rather  tame, 
But  I'm  happy  as  a  clam  on  the  land  of  Uncle  Sam 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

But  when  I  left  my  Eastern  home,  a  bachelor  so 

gay, 

To  try  and  win  my  way  to  wealth  and  fame, 
I  little  thought  I'd  come  down  to  burning  twisted 

hay 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 


The  Little  Old  Sod  Shanty 

My  clothes  are  plastered  o'er  with  dough,  I'm  look- 
ing like  a  fright, 

And  everything  is  scattered  round  the  room, 

But  I  wouldn't  give  the  freedom  that  I  have  out  in 
the  West 

For  the  table  of  the  Eastern  man's  old  home. 

Still,  I  wish  that  some  kind-hearted  girl  would  pity 

on  me  take 

And  relieve  me  from  the  mess  that  I  am  in ; 
The  angel,  how  I'd  bless  her  if  this  her  home  she'd 

make 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

And  we  would  make  our  fortunes  on  the  prairies  of 

the  West, 

Just  as  happy  as  two  lovers  we'd  remain; 
We'd  forget  the  trials  and  troubles  we  endured  at 

the  first 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  my  claim. 

And  if  fate  should  bless  us  with  now  and  then  an 

heir 

To  cheer  our  hearts  with  honest  pride  of  fame, 
Oh,  then  we'd  be  contented  for  the  toil  that  we  had 

spent 
In  the  little  old  sod  shanty  on  our  claim. 

When  time  enough  had  lapsed  and  all  those  little 
brats 

188 


The  Little  Old  Sod  Shanty 

To  noble  man  and  womanhood  had  grown, 

It  wouldn't  seem  half  so  lonely  as  round  us  we  should 

look 
And  we'd  see  the  old  sod  shanty  on  our  claim. 


189 


THE  GOL-DARNED  WHEEL 

I  CAN  take  the  wildest  bronco  in  the  tough  old 
woolly  West. 
I  can  ride  him,  I  can  break  him,  let  him  do  his  level 

best; 

I  can  handle  any  cattle  ever  wore  a  coat  of  hair, 
And  I've  had  a  lively  tussle  with  a  tarnel  grizzly 

bear. 
I  can  rope  and  throw  the  longhorn  of  the  wildest 

Texas  brand, 
And  in  Indian  disagreements  I  can  play  a  leading 

hand, 
But  at  last  I  got  my  master  and  he  surely  made  me 

squeal 
When  the  boys  got  me  a-straddle  of  that  gol-darned 

wheel. 

It  was  at  the  Eagle  Ranch,  on  the  Brazos, 

When   I   first   found  that   darned  contrivance   that 

upset  me  in  the  dust. 
A  tenderfoot  had  brought  it,  he  was  wheeling  all 

the  way 

From  the  sun-rise  end  of  freedom  out  to  San  Fran- 
cisco Bay. 

He  tied  up  at  the  ranch  for  to  get  outside  a  meal, 
Never   thinking   we   would   monkey   with    his    gol- 
darned  wheel. 

190 


The  Gol-Darned  Wheel 

Arizona  Jim  begun  it  when  he  said  to  Jack  McGill 

There  was  fellows  forced  to  limit  bragging  on  their 
riding  skill, 

And  he'd  venture  the  admission  the  same  fellow  that 
he  meant 

Was  a  very  handy  cutter  far  as  riding  bronchos  went; 

But  he  would  find  that  he  was  bucking  'gainst  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  deal 

If  he  threw  his  leather  leggins  'gainst  a  gol-darned 
wheel. 

Such  a  slam  against  my  talent  made  me  hotter  than 

a  mink, 
And  I  swore  that  I  would  ride  him  for  amusement 

or  for  chink. 
And  it  was  nothing  but  a  plaything  for  the  kids  and 

such  about, 
And  they'd  have  their  ideas  shattered  if  they'd  lead 

the  critter  out. 
They  held  it  while  I  mounted  and  gave  the  word 

to  go; 
The  shove  they  gave  to  start  me  warn't  unreasonably 

slow. 
But  I  never  spilled  a  cuss  word  and  I  never  spilled  a 

squeal  — 
I  was  building  reputation  on  that  gol-darned  wheel. 

Holy  Moses  and  the  Prophets,  how  we  split  the 
Texas  air,  » 


191 


The  Gol-Darned  Wheel 

And  the  wind  it  made  whip-crackers  of  my  same  old 

canthy  hair, 

And  I  sorta  comprehended  as  down  the  hill  we  went 
There  was  bound  to  be  a  smash-up  that  I  couldn't 

well  prevent. 
Oh,  how  them  punchers  bawled,  "  Stay  with  her, 

Uncle  Bill! 
Stick  your  spurs  in  her,  you  sucker !  turn  her  muzzle 

up  the  hill!" 
But  I  never  made  an  answer,  I  just  let  the  cusses 

squeal, 
I  was  finding  reputation  on  that  gol-darned  wheel. 

The  grade  was  mighty  sloping  from  the  ranch  down 

to  the  creek 
And    I    went    a-galliflutin'    like    a    crazy    lightning 

streak, — 
Went  whizzing  and  a-darting  first  this  way  and  then 

that, 
The  darned  contrivance  sort  o'  wobbling  like  the 

flying  of  a  bat. 

I  pulled  upon  the  handles,  but  I  couldn't  check  it  up, 
And   I   yanked   and   sawed   and   hollowed  but   the 

darned  thing  wouldn't  stop. 
Then  a  sort  of  a  meachin'  in  my  brain  began  to 

steal, 
That  the  devil  held  a  mortgage  on  that  gol-darned 

wheel. 


192 


The  Gol-Darned  Wheel 

I've  a  sort  of  dim  and  hazy  remembrance  of  the 

stop, 

With  the  world  a-goin'  round  and  the  stars  all  tan- 
gled up; 
Then  there  came  an  intermission  that  lasted  till  I 

found 
I  was  lying  at  the  ranch  with  the  boys  all  gathered 

round, 
And  a  doctor  was  a-sewing  on  the  skin  where  it  was 

ripped, 
And  old  Arizona  whispered,  "  Well,  old  boy,  I  guess 

you're  whipped," 
And  I  told  him  I  was  busted  from  sombrero  down  to 

heel, 
And  he  grinned  and  said,  "  You  ought  to  see  that 

gol-darned  wheel" 


193 


BONNIE  BLACK  BESS 

WHEN  fortune's  blind  goddess 
Had  fled  my  abode, 
And  friends  proved  unfaithful, 
I  took  to  the  road; 
To  plunder  the  wealthy 
And  relieve  my  distress, 
I  bought  you  to  aid  me, 
My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 

No  vile  whip  nor  spur 
Did  your  sides  ever  gall, 
For  none  did  you  need, 
You  would  bound  at  my  call; 
And  for  each  act  of  kindness 
You  would  me  caress, 
Thou  art  never  unfaithful, 
My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 

When  dark,  sable  midnight 
Her  mantle  had  thrown 
O'er  the  bright  face  of  nature, 
How  oft  we  have  gone 
To  the  famed  Houndslow  heath, 
Though  an  unwelcome  guest 
To  the  minions  of  fortune, 
My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 
194 


Bonnie  Black  Bess 

How  silent  you  stood 
When  the  carnage  I  stopped, 
The  gold  and  the  jewels 
Its  inmates  would  drop. 
No  poor  man  I  plundered 
Nor  e'er  did  oppress 
The  widows  or  orphans, 
My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 

When  Argus-eyed  justice 

Did  me  hot  pursue, 

From  Yorktown  to  London 

Like  lightning  we  flew. 

No  toll  bars  could  stop  you, 

The  waters  did  breast, 

And  in  twelve  hours  we  made  it, 

My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 

But  hate  darkens  o'er  me, 
Despair  is  my  lot, 
And  the  law  does  pursue  me 
For  the  many  I've  shot; 
To  save  me,  poor  brute, 
Thou  hast  done  thy  best, 
Thou  art  worn  out  and  weary, 
My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 

Hark !  they  never  shall  have 
A  beast  like  thee ; 
So  noble  and  gentle 

195 


Bonnie  Black  Bess 

And  brave,  thou  must  die, 

My  dumb  friend, 

Though  it  does  me  distress, — 

There!     There!     I  have  shot  thee, 

My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 

In  after  years 

When  I  am  dead  and  gone, 

This  story  will  be  handed 

From  father  to  son; 

My  fate  some  will  pity, 

And  some  will  confess 

Twas  through  kindness  I  killed  thee, 

My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 

No  one  can  e'er  say 
That  ingratitude  dwelt 
In  the  bosom  of  Turpin, — > 
'Twas  a  vice  never  felt. 
I  will  die  like  a  man 
And  soon  be  at  rest; 
Now,  farewell  forever, 
My  Bonnie  Black  Bess. 


196 


THE  LAST  LONGHORN 

AN  ancient  long-horned  bovine 
Lay  dying  by  the  river; 
There  was  lack  of  vegetation 
And  the  cold  winds  made  him  shiver; 
A  cowboy  sat  beside  him 
With  sadness  in  his  face, 
To  see  his  final  passing, — 
This  last  of  a  noble  race. 

The  ancient  eunuch  struggled 
And  raised  his  shaking  head, 
Saying,  "  I  care  not  to  linger 
When  all  my  friends  are  dead. 
These  Jerseys  and  these  Holsteins, 
They  are  no  friends  of  mine; 
They  belong  to  the  nobility 
Who  live  across  the  brine. 

"  Tell  the  Durhams  and  the  Herefords 
When  they  come  a-grazing  round, 
And  see  me  lying  stark  and  stiff 
Upon  the  frozen  ground, 
I  don't  want  them  to  bellow 
When  they  see  that  I  am  dead, 
For  I  was  born  in  Texas 
Near  the  river  that  is  Red. 
197 


The  Last  Longhorn 

"  Tell  the  cayotes,  when  they  come  at  night 
A-hunting  for  their  prey, 
They  might  as  well  go  further, 
For  they'll  find  it  will  not  pay. 
If  they  attempt  to  eat  me, 
They  very  soon  will  see 
That  my  bones  and  hide  are  petrified, — • 
They'll  find  no  beef  on  me. 

"  I  remember  back  in  the  seventies, 
Full  many  summers  past, 
There  was  grass  and  water  plenty, 
But  it  was  too  good  to  last. 
I  little  dreamed  what  would  happen 
Some  twenty  summers  hence, 
When  the  nester  came  with  his  wife,  his  kids, 
His  dogs,  and  his  barbed-wire  fence." 

His  voice  sank  to  a  murmur, 
His  breath  was  short  and  quick; 
The  cowboy  tried  to  skin  him 
When  he  saw  he  couldn't  kick; 
He  rubbed  his  knife  upon  his  boot 
Until  he  made  it  shine, 
But  he  never  skinned  old  longhorn, 
Caze  he  couldn't  cut  his  rine. 

And  the  cowboy  riz  up  sadly 
And  mounted  his  cayuse, 


198 


The  Last  Longhorn 

Saying,  "  The  time  has  come  when  longhorns 

And  their  cowboys  are  no  use  1  " 

And  while  gazing  sadly  backward 

Upon  the  dead  bovine, 

His  bronc  stepped  in  a  dog-hole 

And  fell  and  broke  his  spine. 

The  cowboys  and  the  longhorns 
Who  partnered  in  eighty-four 
Have  gone  to  their  last  round-up 
Over  on  the  other  shore; 
They  answered  well  their  purpose, 
But  their  glory  must  fade  and  go, 
Because  men  say  there's  better  things 
In  the  modern  cattle  show. 


199 


A  PRISONER  FOR  LIFE 

FARE  you  well,  green  fields, 
Soft  meadows,  adieu  I 
Rocks  and  mountains, 
I  depart  from  you; 
Nevermore  shall  my  eyes 
By  your  beauties  be  blest, 
Nevermore  shall  you  soothe 
My  sad  bosom  to  rest. 

Farewell,  little  birdies, 

That  fly  in  the  sky, 

You  fly  all  day  long 

And  sing  your  troubles  by  5 

I  am  doomed  to  this  cell, 

I  heave  a  deep  sigh ; 

My  heart  sinks  within  me, 

In  anguish  I  die. 

Fare  you  well,  little  fishes, 
That  glides  through  the  sea, 
Your  life's  all  sunshine, 
All  light,  and  all  glee; 
Nevermore  shall  I  watch 
Your  skill  in  the  wave, 
I'll  depart  from  all  friends 
This  side  of  the  grave. 
200 


A  Prisoner  for  Life 

What  would  I  give 

Such  freedom  to  share, 

To  roam  at  my  ease 

And  breathe  the  fresh  air; 

I  would  roam  through  the  cities, 

Through  village  and  dell, 

But  I  never  would  return 

To  my  cold  prison  cell. 

iWhat's  life  without  liberty? 
I  ofttimes  have  said, 
Of  a  poor  troubled  mind 
That's  always  in  dread; 
No  sun,  moon,  and  stars 
Can  on  me  now  shine, 
No  change  in  my  danger 
From  daylight  till  dawn. 

Fare  you  well,  kind  friends, 

I  am  willing  to  own, 

Such  a  wild  outcast 

Never  was  known; 

I'm  the  downfall  of  my  family, 

My  children,  my  wife; 

God  pity  and  pardon 

The  poor  prisoner  for  life. 


20 1 


A  Prisoner  For  Life 


Fare  you  well  green  fields,. .      Soft  mead-ows,  a-  dieu! 


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Rocks      and  moun-tains      I   de  -  part from  you, 


,N  J 

-- 


^ 


^-^- 


Nev  -  er-  more     shall  my  eyes       by  your  beau-ties  be  fed, 


A  Prisoner  for  Life — Concluded 


Nev-  er  more  shall  you  soothe  my     poor  bo  -  som       to  rest. 


THE  WARS  OF  GERMANY 

THERE  was  a  wealthy  merchant, 
In  London  he  did  dwell, 
He  had  an  only  daughter, 
The  truth  to  you  I'll  tell. 
Sing  I  am  left  alone, 
Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

She  was  courted  by  a  lord 

Of  very  high  degree, 

She  was  courted  by  a  sailor  Jack 

Just  from  the  wars  of  Germany. 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

Her  parents  came  to  know  this, 
That  such  a  thing  could  be, 
A  sailor  Jack,  a  sailor  lad, 
Just  from  the  wars  of  Germany. 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

So  Polly  she's  at  home 
With  money  at  command, 
She  taken  a  notion 
To  view  some  foreign  land. 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 
204 


The  Wars  of  Germany 

She  went  to  die  tailor's  shop 
And  dressed  herself  in  man's  array, 
And  was  off  to  an  officer 
To  carry  her  straight  away. 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

"  Good  morning,"  says  the  officer, 

And  "  Morning,"  says  she, 
"  Here's  fifty  guineas  if  you'll  carry  me 
To  the  wars  of  Germany." 
Sing  I  am  left  alone, 
Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

4<  Your  waist  is  too  slender, 
Your  fingers  are  too  small, 
I  am  afraid  from  your  countenance 
You  can't  face  a  cannon  ball." 
Sing  I  am  left  alone, 
Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

"  My  waist  is  not  too  slender, 
My  fingers  are  not  too  small, 
And  never  would  I  quiver 
To  face  a  cannon  ball." 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

"  We  don't  often  'list  an  officer 
Unless  the  name  we  know ;  " 
205 


The  Wars  of  Germany 

She  answered  him  in  a  low,  sweet  voice, 
"  You  may  call  me  Jack  Munro." 
Sing  I  am  left  alone, 
Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

We  gathered  up  our  men 
And  quickly  we  did  sail, 
We  landed  in  France 
With  a  sweet  and  pleasant  gale. 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

We  were  walking  on  the  land, 
Up  and  down  the  line, — 
Among  the  dead  and  wounded 
Her  own  true  love  she  did  find. 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

She  picked  him  up  all  in  her  arms, 

To  Tousen  town  she  \£entj 

She  soon  found  a  doctor 

To  dress  and  heal  his  wounds, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone, 

Sing  I  am  left  alone. 

So  Jacky,  he  is  married, 

And  his  bride  by  his  side, 

In  spite  of  her  old  parents 

And  all  the  world  beside. 

Sing  no  longer  left  alone, 
Sing  no  longer  left  alone. 
206 


FREIGHTING  FROM  WILCOX  TO  GLOBE 

COME  all  you  jolly  freighters 
That  has  freighted  on  the  road, 
That  has  hauled  a  load  of  freight 
From  Wilcox  to  Globe; 
We  freighted  on  this  road 
For  sixteen  years  or  more 
A-hauling  freight  for  Livermore, — 
No  wonder  that  I'm  poor. 

And  it's  home,  dearest  home; 
And  it's  home  you  ought  to  be, 
Over  on  the  Gila 
In  the  white  man's  country, 
Where  the  poplar  and  the  ash 
And  mesquite  will  ever  be 
Growing  green  down  on  the  Gila; 
There's  a  home  for  you  and  me. 

'Twas  in  the  spring  of  seventy-three 
I  started  with  my  team, 
Led  by  false  illusion 
And  those  foolish,  golden  dreams; 
The  first  night  out  from  Wilcox 
My  best  wheel  horse  was  stole, 
And  it  makes  me  curse  a  little 
To  come  out  in  the  hole. 
207 


Freighting  From  Wilcox  to  Globe 

This  then  only  left  me  three, — 

Kit,  Mollie  and  old  Mike; 

Mike  being  the  best  one  of  the  three 

I  put  him  out  on  spike ; 

I  then  took  the  mountain  road 

So  the  people  would  not  smile, 

And  it  took  fourteen  days 

To  travel  thirteen  mile. 

But  I  got  there  all  the  same 
IWith  my  little  three-up  spike ; 
It  taken  all  my  money,  then^ 
iTo  buy  a  mate  for  Mike. 
You  all  know  how  it  is 
When  once  you  get  behind, 
You  never  get  even  again 
Till  you  damn  steal  them  blind. 

I  was  an  honest  man 

When  I  first  took  to  the  road, 

I  would  not  swear  an  oath, 

Nor  would  I  tap  a  load; 

'But  now  you  ought  to  see  my  mules 

When  I  begin  to  cuss, 

They  flop  their  ears  and  wiggle  their  tails 

And  pull  the  load  or  bust. 

Now  I  can  tap  a  whiskey  barrel 
With  nothing  but  a  stick, 
No  one  can  detect  me 
I've  got  it  down  so  slick; 
208 


Freighting  from  Wilcox  to  Globe 

Just  fill  it  up  with  water, — 
Sure,  there's  no  harm  in  that. 

Now  my  clothes  are  not  the  finest, 
Nor  are  they  genteel ; 
But  they  will  have  to  do  me 
Till  I  can  make  another  steal. 
My  boots  are  number  elevens, 
For  I  swiped  them  from  a  chow, 
And  my  coat  cost  dos  reals 
From  a  little  Apache  squaw. 

Now  I  have  freighted  in  the  sand, 

I  have  freighted  in  the  rain, 

I  have  bogged  my  wagons  down 

And  dug  them  out  again; 

I  have  worked  both  late  and  early 

Till  I  was  almost  dead, 

And  I  have  spent  some  nights  sleeping 

In  an  Arizona  bed. 

Now  barbed  wire  and  bacon 

Is  all  that  they  will  pay, 

But  you  have  to  show  your  copper  checks 

To  get  your  grain  and  hay; 

If  you  ask  them  for  five  dollars, 

Old  Meyers  will  scratch  his  pate, 

And  the  clerks  in  their  white,  stiff  collars 

Say,  "  Get  down  and  pull  your  freight." 


209 


Freighting  from  Wilcox  to  Globe 

But  I  want  to  die  and  go  to  hell, 

Get  there  before  Livermore  and  Meyers, 

And  get  a  job  of  hauling  coke 

To  keep  up  the  devil's  fires; 

If  I  get  the  job  of  singeing  them, 

I'll  see  they  don't  get  free ; 

I'll  treat  them  like  a  yaller  dog, 

As  they  have  treated  me. 

And  it's  home,  dearest  home; 
And  it's  home  you  ought  to  be, 
Over  on  the  Gila, 
In  the  white  man's  country, 
Where  the  poplar  and  the  ash 
And  mesquite  will  ever  be 
Growing  green  down  on  the  Gila; 
There's  a  home  for  you  and  me. 


210 


THE  ARIZONA  BOYS  AND  GIRLS 

COME  all  of  you  people,  I  pray  you  draw  near, 
A  comical  ditty  you  all  shall  hear. 
The  boys  in  this  country  they  try  to  advance 
By  courting  the  ladies  and  learning  to  dance, — 
And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

The  boys  in  this  country  they  try  to  be  plain, 
Those  words  that  you  hear  you  may  hear  them  again, 
With  twice  as  much  added  on  if  you  can. 
There's  many  a  boy  stuck  up  for  a  man, — 
And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

They  will  go  to  their  parties,  their  whiskey  they'll 

take, 

And  out  in  the  dark  their  bottles  they'll  break; 
You'll  hear  one  say,  "  There's  a  bottle  around  here; 
So  come  around,  boys,  and  we'll  all  take  a  share," — 
And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

There  is  some  wears  shoes  and  some  wears  boots, 
But  there  are  very  few  that  rides  who  don't  shoot ; 
More  than  this,  I'll  tell  you  what  they'll  do, 
They'll  get  them  a  watch  and  a  ranger  hat,  too, — 
And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

They'll  go  in  the  hall  with  spurs  on  their  heel, 
They'll  get  them  a  partner  to  dance  the  next  reel, 

211 


The  Arizona  Boys  and  Girls 

Saying,  u  How  do  I  look  in  my  new  brown  suit, 
With   my   pants   stuffed   down   in   the   top   of   my 

boot?"— 
And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

Now  I  think  it's  quite  time  to  leave  off  these  lads 
For  here  are  some  girls  that's  fully  as  bad; 
They'll  trim  up  their  dresses  and  curl  up  their  hair, 
And  like  an  old  owl  before  the  glass  they'll  stare, — 
And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

The  girls  in  the  country  they  grin  like  a  cat, 

And  with  giggling  and  laughing  they  don't  know 

what  they're  at, 

They  think  they're  pretty  and  I  tell  you  they're  wise, 
But  they  couldn't  get  married  to  save  their  two 

eyes, — 
And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

You  can  tell  a  good  girl  wherever  she's  found; 
No  trimming,  no  lace,  no  nonsense  around; 
With  a  long-eared  bonnet  tied  under  her  chin, — 

And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

They'll  go  to  church  with  their  snuff-box  in  hand, 
They'll  give  it  a  tap  to  make  it  look  grand; 
Perhaps  there  is  another  one  or  two 
And  they'll  pass  it  around  and  it's  "  Madam,  won't 

you,"— 

And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 

212 


The  Arizona  Boys  and  Girls 

Now,  I  think  it's  quite  time  for  this  ditty  to  end; 

If  there's  anyone  here  that  it  will  offend, 

If  there's  anyone  here  that  thinks  it  amiss 

Just  come  around  now  and  give  the  singer  a  kiss,- 

And  they're  down,  down,  and  they're  down. 


213 


THE  DYING  RANGER 

/TTVHE  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west 

X     And  fell  with  lingering  ray 
Through  the  branches  of  a  forest 
Where  a  wounded  ranger  lay; 
Beneath  the  shade  of  a  palmetto 
And  the  sunset  silvery  sky, 
Far  away  from  his  home  in  Texas 
They  laid  him  down  to  die. 

A  group  had  gathered  round  him, 

His  comrades  in  the  fight, 

A  tear  rolled  down  each  manly  cheek 

As  he  bid  a  last  good-night. 

One  tried  and  true  companion 

Was  kneeling  by  his  side, 

To  stop  his  life-blood  flowing, 

But  alas,  in  vain  he  tried. 

When  to  stop  the  life-blood  flowing 
He  found  'twas  all  in  vain, 
The  tears  rolled  down  each  man's  cheek 
Like  light  showers  of  rain. 
Up  spoke  the  noble  ranger, 
"  Boys,  weep  no  more  for  me, 
I  am  crossing  the  deep  waters 
To  a  country  that  is  free. 
214 


The  Dying  Ranger. 

"  Draw  closer  to  me,  comrades, 
And  listen  to  what  I  say, 
I  am  going  to  tell  a  story 
While  my  spirit  hastens  away. 
Way  back  in  Northwest  Texas, 
That  good  old  Lone  Star  state, 
There  is  one  that  for  my  coming 
With  a  weary  heart  will  wait. 

"  A  fair  young  girl,  my  sister, 
My  only  joy,  my  pride, 
She  was  my  friend  from  boyhood, 
I  had  no  one  left  beside. 
I  have  loved  her  as  a  brother, 
And  with  a  father's  care 
I  have  strove  from  grief  and  sorrow] 
Her  gentle  heart  to  spare. 

"  My  mother,  she  lies  sleeping 
Beneath  the  church-yard  sod, 
And  many  a  day  has  passed  away 
Since  her  spirit  fled  to  God. 
My  father,  he  lies  sleeping 
Beneath  the  deep  blue  sea, 
I  have  no  other  kindred, 
There  are  none  but  Nell  and  me. 

"  But  our  country  was  invaded 
And  they  called  for  volunteers; 
She  threw  her  arms  around  me, 
Then  burst  into  tears, 
215 


The  Dying  Ranger 

Saying,  *  Go,  my  darling  brother, 
Drive  those  traitors  from  our  shore, 
My  heart  may  need  your  presence, 
But  our  country  needs  you  more.' 

"  It  is  true  I  love  my  country, 
For  her  I  gave  my  all. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  my  sister, 
I  would  be  content  to  fall. 
I  am  dying,  comrades,  dying, 
She  will  never  see  me  more, 
But  in  vain  she'll  wait  my  coming 
By  our  little  cabin  door. 

"  Comrades,  gather  closer 
And  listen  to  my  dying  prayer. 
Who  will  be  to  her  as  a  brother, 
And  shield  her  with  a  brother's  care  B 
Up  spake  the  noble  rangers, 
They  answered  one  and  all, 

"  We  will  be  to  her  as  brothers 
Till  the  last  one  does  fall" 

One  glad  smile  of  pleasure 
O'er  the  ranger's  face  was  spreadj; 
One  dark,  convulsive  shadow, 
And  the  ranger  boy  was  dead. 
Far  from  his  darling  sister 
We  laid  him  down  to  rest 
With  his  saddle  for  a  pillow 
And  his  gun  across  his  breast. 
216 


The  Dying  Ranger 


The      sun       was    sink  -  ing        in        the    west,     And 


•fS =*• 


fell  with     lin-g'ring  ray   Through  the  branches      of     the 


K£=^ 


J J 


1 


f or  -  est, . . .  Where    a    wound  -  ed    ran  -  ger      lay; 


The  Dying  Ranger—  Concluded 


ly  [P  b    fc  —  fi- 

-^  |l  f                               *~<         -r  g 

'Neath  the 

5  —  ^  —  b  —  b  —  ^  —  t?  —  b  —  3^^B 

shade    of        a      pal  -  met  -  to  ...      And    the 

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sun  -  set    sil  -  v*ry  sky,        Far    a  -  way  from  his  home  in 


rit. 


H 


They    laid    him    down        to      die. 
rit. 


pp 


THE  FAIR  FANNIE  MOORE 

YONDER  stands  a  cottage, 
All  deserted  and  alone, 
Its  paths  are  neglected, 
With  grass  overgrown; 
Go  in  and  you  will  see 
Some  dark  stains  on  the  floor,— 
Alas !  it  is  the  blood 
Of  fair  Fannie  Moore. 

To  Fannie,  so  blooming, 
Two  lovers  they  came ; 
One  offered  young  Fannie 
His  wealth  and  his  name ; 
But  neither  his  money 
Nor  pride  could  secure 
A  place  in  the  heart 
Of  fair  Fannie  Moore. 

The  first  was  young  Randell, 
So  bold  and  so  proud, 
Who  to  the  fair  Fannie 
His  haughty  head  bowed ; 
But  his  wealth  and  his  house 
Both  failed  to  allure 
The  heart  from  the  bosom 
Of  fair  Fannie  Moore. 
219 


The  Fair.  Fannie  Moore 

The  next  was  young  Henry, 
Of  lowest  degree. 
He  won  her  fond  love 
And  enraptured  was  he; 
And  then  at  the  altar 
He  quick  did  secure 
The  hand  with  the  heart 
Of  the  fair  Fannie  Moore. 

As  she  was  alone 
In  her  cottage  one  day, 
When  business  had  called 
Her  fond  husband  away, 
Young  Randell,  the  haughty, 
Came  in  at  the  door 
And  clasped  in  his  arms 
The  fair  Fannie  Moore. 

"  O  Fannie,  O  Fannie, 
Reflect  on  your  fate 
And  accept  of  my  offer 
Before  it's  too  late; 
For  one  thing  to-night 
I  am  bound  to  secure, — 
'Tis  the  love  or  the  life 
Of  the  fair  Fannie  Moore." 

"  Spare  me,  Oh,  spare  me !  " 
The  young  Fannie  cries, 
While  the  tears  swiftly  flow 
220 


The  Fair  Fannie  Moore 

From  her  beautiful  eyes; 

"  Oh,  no !  "  cries  young  Randell, 

"  Go  home  to  your  rest," 
And  he  buried  his  knife 
In  her  snowy  white  breast. 

So  Fannie,  so  blooming, 
In  her  bright  beauty  died; 
Young  Randell,  the  haughty, 
Was  taken  and  tried; 
At  length  he  was  hung 
On  a  tree  at  the  door, 
For  shedding  the  blood 
Of  the  fair  Fannie  Moore. 

Young  Henry,  the  shepherd, 

Distracted  and  wild, 

Did  wander  away 

From  his  own  native  isle. 

Till  at  length,  claimed  by  death, 

He  was  brought  to  this  shore 

And  laid  by  the  side 

Of  the  fair  Fannie  Moore. 


221 


HELL  IN  TEXAS 

THE  devil,  we're  told,  in  hell  was  chained, 
And  a  thousand  years  he  there  remained; 
He  never  complained  no-r  did  he  groan, 
But  determined  to  start  a  hell  of  his  own, 
Where  he  could  torment  the  souls  of  men 
Without  being  chained  in  a  prison  pen. 
So  he  asked  the  Lord  if  he  had  on  hand 
Anything  left  when  he  made  the  land. 

The  Lord  said,  "  Yes,  I  had  plenty  on  hand, 
But  I  left  it  down  on  the  Rio  Grande; 
The  fact  is,  old  boy,  the  stuff  is  so  poor 
I  don't  think  you  could  use  it  in  hell  anymore." 
But  the  devil  went  down  to  look  at  the  truck, 
And  said  if  it  came  as  a  gift  he  was  stuck; 
For  after  examining  it  carefully  and  well 
He  concluded  the  place  was  too  dry  for  hell. 

So,  in  order  to  get  it  off  his  hands, 
The  Lord  promised  the  devil  to  water  the  lands ; 
For  he  had  some  water,  or  rather  some  dregs, 
A  regular  cathartic  that  smelled  like  bad  eggs. 
Hence  the  deal  was  closed  and  the  deed  was  given 
And  the  Lord  went  back  to  his  home  in  heaven. 
And  the  devil  then  said,  "  I  have  all  that  is  needed 
To  make  a  good  hell,"  and  hence  he  succeeded. 

222 


Hell  in   Texas 

He  began  to  put  thorns  in  all  of  the  trees, 
And  mixed  up  the  sand  with  millions  of  fleas; 
And  scattered  tarantulas  along  all  the  roads; 
Put  thorns  on  the  cactus  and  horns  on  the  toads. 
He  lengthened  the  horns  of  the  Texas  steers, 
And  put  an  addition  on  the  rabbit's  ears; 
He  put  a  little  devil  in  the  broncho  steed, 
And  poisoned  the  feet  of  the  centipede. 

The  rattlesnake  bites  you,  the  scorpion  stings, 
The  mosquito  delights  you  with  buzzing  wings; 
The  sand-burrs  prevail  and  so  do  the  ants, 
And  those  who  sit  down  need  half-soles  on  their 

pants. 

The  devil  then  said  that  throughout  the  land 
He'd  managed  to  keep  up  the  devil's  own  brand, 
And  all  would  be  mavericks  unless  they  bore 
The  marks  of  scratches  and  bites  and  thorns  by  the 

score. 

The  heat  in  the  summer  is  a  hundred  and  ten, 

Too  hot  for  the  devil  and  too  hot  for  men. 

The  wild  boar  roams  through  the  black  chaparral, — 

It's  a  hell  of  a  place  he  has  for  a  hell. 

The  red  pepper  grows  on  the  banks  of  the  brook; 

The  Mexicans  use  it  in  all  that  they  cook.    • 

Just  dine  with  a  Greaser  and  then  you  will  shout, 

"  I've  hell  on  the  inside  as  well  as  the  out!  " 


223 


BY  MARKENTURA'S  FLOWERY  MARGE 

BY  Markentura's  flowery  marge  the  Red  Chief's 
wigwam  stood, 
Before   the   white   man's   rifle   rang,    loud   echoing 

through  the  wood; 
The  tommy-hawk  and  scalping  knife  together  lay  at 

rest, 

And  peace  was  in  the  forest  shade  and  in  the  red 
man's  breast. 

Oh,  the  Spotted  Fawn,  oh,  the  Spotted  Fawn, 
The  life  and  light  of  the  forest  shade, — 
The  Red  Chief's  child  is  gone! 

By  Markentura's  flowery  marge  the  Spotted  Fawn 

had  birth 
And  grew  as  fair  an  Indian  maid  as  ever  graced  the 

earth. 
She  was  the  Red  Chief's  only  child  and  sought  by 

many  a  brave, 
But  to  the  gallant  young  White  Cloud  her  plighted 

troth  she  gave. 

By   Markentura's   flowery  marge  the   bridal   song 
arose, 

Nor  dreamed  they  in  that  festive  night  of  near  ap- 
proaching woes; 

224 


By  Markenturrfs  Flowery  Marge 

But  through  the  forest  stealthily  the  white  man  came 

in  wrath, 
And  fiery  darts  before  them  spread,  and  death  was 

in  their  path. 

By  Markentura's  flowery  marge  next  morn  no  strife 

was  seen, 
But  a  wail  went  up,  for  the  young  Fawn's  blood  and 

White  Cloud's  dyed  the  green. 
A  burial  in  their  own  rude  way  the  Indians  gave  them 

there, 
And  a  low  sweet  requiem  the  brook  sang  and  the  air. 

Oh,  the  Spotted  Fawn,  oh,  the  Spotted  Fawn, 
The  life  and  light  of  the  forest  shade, — 
The  Red  Chief's  child  is  gone! 


225 


THE  STATE  OF  ARKANSAW 

MY  name   is   Stamford  Barnes,   I   come   from 
Nobleville  town ; 
I've  traveled  this  wide  world  over,  I've  traveled  this 

wide  world  round. 
I've  met  with  ups  and  downs  in  life  but  better  days 

I've  saw, 

But  I've  never  knew  what  misery  were  till  I  came  to 
Arkansaw. 

I  landed  in  St.  Louis  with  ten  dollars  and  no  more ; 
I  read  the  daily  papers  till  both  my  eyes  were  sore; 
I  read  them  evening  papers  until  at  last  I  saw 
Ten  thousand  men  were  wanted  in  the  state  of  Arkan- 
saw. 

I  wiped  my  eyes  with  great  surprise  when  I  read  this 

grateful  news, 
And  straightway  off  I  started  to  see  the  agent,  Billy 

Hughes. 
He  says,  "  Pay  me  five  dollars  and  a  ticket  to  you 

I'll  draw, 
It'll  land  you  safe  upon  the  railroad  in  the  State  of 

Arkansaw." 

I  started  off  one  morning  a  quarter  after  five; 
I  started  from  St.  Louis,  half  dead  and  half  alive ; 

226 


The  State  of  Arkansas, 

I  bought  me  a  quart  of  whiskey  my  misery  to  thaw, 
I  got  as  drunk  as  a  biled  owl  when  I  left  for  old 
Arkansaw. 

I  landed  in  Ft.  Smith  one  sultry  Sunday  afternoon, 
It  was  in  the  month  of  May,  the  early  month  of  June, 
Up  stepped  a  walking  skeleton  with  a  long  and  lan- 
tern jaw, 
Invited  me  to  his  hotel,  "  The  best  in  Arkansaw." 

I  followed  my  conductor  into  his  dwelling  place; 
Poverty  were  depictured  in  his  melancholy  face. 
His  bread  it  was  corn  dodger,  his  beef  I  could  noC 

chaw; 
This  was  the  kind  of  hash  they  fed  me  in  the  State 

of  Arkansaw. 

I  started  off  next  morning  to  catch  the  morning  train, 
He  says  to  me,  "  You'd  better  work,  for  I  have  some 

land  to  drain. 
I'll  pay  you  fifty  cents  a  day,  your  board,  washing, 

and  all, — 
You'll  find  yourself  a  different  man  when  you  leave 

old  Arkansaw." 

I  worked  six  weeks  for  the  son  of  a  gun,  Jesse  Her- 
ring was  his  name, 

He  was  six  foot  seven  in  his  stocking  feet  and  taller 
than  any  crane; 


227 


The  State  of  Arkansaw 

His  hair  hung  down  in  strings  over  his  long  and  lan- 
tern jaw, — 

He  was  a  photograph  of  all  the  gents  who  lived  in 
Arkansaw. 

He  fed  me  on  corn  dodgers  as  hard  as  any  rock, 
Until  my  teeth  began  to  loosen  and  my  knees  began 

to  knock; 
I  got  so  thin  on  sassafras  tea  I  could  hide  behind  a 

straw, 
And  indeed  I  was  a  different  man  when  I  left  old 

Arkansaw. 

Farewell  to  swamp  angels,  cane  brakes,  and  chills; 
Farewell  to  sage  and  sassafras  and  corn  dodger  pills. 
If  ever  I  see  this  land  again,  I'll  give  to  you  my  paw; 
It  will  be  through  a  telescope  from  here  to  Arkansaw. 


228 


THE  TEXAS   COWBOY 

OH,  I  am  a  Texas  cowboy. 
Far  away  from  home, 
If  ever  I  get  back  to  Texas 
I  never  more  will  roam. 

Montana  is  too  cold  for  me 
And  the  winters  are  too  long; 
Before  the  round-ups  do  begin 
Our  money  is  all  gone» 

Take  this  old  hen-skin  bedding, 
Too  thin  to  keep  me  warm, — 
I  nearly  freeze  to  death,  my  boys, 
'Whenever  there's  a  storm. 

And  take  this  old  "  tarpoleon," 
Too  thin  to  shield  my  frame,— ^ 
I  got  it  down  in  Nebraska 
A-dealin*  ai  Monte  game. 

Now  to  win  these  fancy  leggins 
I'll  have  enough  to  do; 
They  cost  me  twenty  dollars 
The  day  that  they  were  new. 

I  have  an  outfit  on  the  Mussel  Shell, 
But  that  I'll  never  see, 
229 


The  Texas  Cowboy 

Unless  I  get  sent  to  represent 
The  Circle  or  D.  T. 

I've  worEecI  down  in  Nebraska 
Where  the  grass  grows  ten  feet  highs 
And  the  cattle  are  such  rustlers 
That  they  seldom  ever  die; 

IVe  worked  up  in  the  sand  hills 
And  down  upon  the  Platte, 
Where  the  cowboys  are  good  fellows 
And  the  cattle  always  fat; 

IVe  traveled  lots  of  country, — * 
Nebraska's  hills  of  sand, 
'Down  through  the  Indian  Nation, 
And  up  the  Rio  Grande ;  — 

But  the  Bad  Lands  of  Montana 
Are  the  worst  I  ever  seen, 
The  cowboys  are  all  tenderfeet 
'And  the  dogies  are  too  lean. 

If  you  want  to  see  some  bad  lands, 
Go  over  on  the  Dry ; 
You  will  bog  down  in  the  coulees 
Where  the  mountains  reach  the  sky0 

A  tenderfoot  to  lead  you 
Who  never  knows  the  way, 
230 


The  Texas  Cowboy 

You  are  playing  in  the  best  of  luck 
If  you  eat  more  than  once  a  day. 

Your  grub  is  bread  and  bacon 
And  coffee  black  as  ink; 
The  water  is  so  full  of  alkali 
It  is  hardly  fit  to  drink. 

They  will  wake  you  in  the  morning 
Before  the  break  of  day, 
And  send  you  on  a  circle 
A  hundred  miles  away. 

All  along  the  Yellowstone 
'Tis  cold  the  year  around; 
You  will  surely  get  consumption 
By  sleeping  on  the  ground. 

Work  in  Montana 
Is  six  months  in  the  year ; 
When  all  your  bills  are  settled 
There  is  nothing  left  for  beer. 

Work  down  in  Texas 
Is  all  the  year  around; 
You  will  never  get  consumption 
By  sleeping  on  the  ground. 

Come  all  you  Texas  cowboys 
And  warning  take  from  me, 
231 


The  Texas  Cowboy 

And  do  not  go  to  Montana 
To  spend  your  money  free. 

But  stay  at  home  in  Texas 
Where  work  lasts  the  year  around, 
And  you  will  never  catch  consumption 
By  sleeping  on  the  ground. 


232 


THE  DREARY,   DREARY  LIFE 

A  COWBOY'S  life  is  a  dreary,  dreary  life, 
Some  say  it's  free  from  care; 
Rounding  up  the  cattle  from  morning  till  night 
In  the  middle  of  the  prairie  so  bare. 

Half-past  four,  the  noisy  cook  will  roar, 
"  Whoop-a-whoop-a-hey !  " 
Slowly  you  will  rise  with  sleepy-feeling  eyes, 
The  sweet,  dreamy  night  passed  away. 

The  greener  lad  he  thinks  it's  play, 
He'll  soon  peter  out  on  a  cold  rainy  day, 
With  his  big  bell  spurs  and  his  Spanish  hoss, 
He'll  swear  to  you  he  was  once  a  boss. 

The  cowboy's  life  is  a  dreary,  dreary  life, 

He's  driven  through  the  heat  and  cold; 

While  the  rich  man's  a-sleeping  on  his  velvet  couch, 

Dreaming  of  his  silver  and  gold. 

Spring-time  sets  in,  double  trouble  will  begin, 
The  weather  is  so  fierce  and  cold; 
Clothes  are  wet  and  frozen  to  our  necks, 
The  cattle  we  can.  scarcely  hold. 

The  cowboy's  life  is  a  dreary  one, 
He  works  all  day  to  the  setting  of  the  sun ; 

233 


The  Dreary,  Dreary  Life 

And  then  his  day's  work  is  not  done, 
For  there's  his  night  herd  to  go  on. 

The  wolves  and  owls  with  their  terrifying  howls 
Will  disturb  us  in  our  midnight  dream, 
As  we  lie  on  our  slickers  on  a  cold,  rainy  night 
Way  over  on  the  Pecos  stream. 

•  \ 
You  are  speaking  of  your  farms,  you  are  speaking  of 

your  charms, 

You  are  speaking  of  your  silver  and  gold; 
But  a  cowboy's  life  is  a  dreary,  dreary  life, 
He's  driven  through  the  heat  and  cold. 

Some  folks  say  that  we  are  free  from  care, 

Free  from  all  other  harm ; 

But  we  round  up  the  cattle  from  morning  till  night 

Way  over  on  the  prairie  so  dry. 

I  used  to  run  about,  now  I  stay  at  home, 
Take  care  of  my  wife  and  child; 
Nevermore  to  roam,  always  stay  at  home, 
Take  care  of  my  wife  and  child. 

Half-past  four  the  noisy  cook  will  roar, 
"  Hurrah,  boys!  she's  breaking  day!  " 
Slowly  we  will  rise  and  wipe  our  sleepy  eyes, 
The  sweet,  dreamy  night  passed  away. 


234 


The  Dreary,  Dreary  Life 


A      cow-  boy's  life    is      a  drear-  y,  drear-y    life,    Some 
REFRAIN. — Half-past  four    the . .    noi  -  sy  cook  will  roar, 


" 


say     it's    free    from    care; 
"  Whoop  -  a  -  whoop  -  a   -   hey!' 


Rounding    up    the 
Slow  -  ly    you    will 


I 


cat  -  tie    from     morn  -  ing        till        night       In      the 
rise. . . .     with     sleep  -  y      feel  -  ing  eyes,       The. . . . 


I 


¥ 


The  Dreary,  Dreary  Lite— Concluded 


^ 


£ 


5 


mid  -  die     of     the    prai  -  rie      so. 
sweet,    dream  -  y   night  passed  a 


bare. 
way. 


1 


i 


in 

^^ 


JIM  FARROW 

IT'S  Jim   Farrow    and  John   Farrow   and   little 
Simon,  too, 

Have  plenty  of  cattle  where  I  have  but  few. 
Marking  and  branding  both  night  and  day, — 
It's  "  Keep  still,  boys,  my  boys,  and  you'll  all  get  your 

pay." 

It's  up  to  the  courthouse,  the  first  thing  they  know, 
Before  the  Grand  Jury  they'll  have  to  go. 
They'll  ask  you   about  ear-marks,   they'll   ask  you 

about  brand, 
But  tell  them  you  were  absent  when  the  work  was 

on  hand. 

Jim  Farrow  brands  J.  F.  on  the  side; 
The  next  comes  Johnnie  who  takes  the  whole  hide; 
Little  Simon,  too  has  H.  on  the  loin;  — 
All  stand  for  Farrow  but  it's  not  good  for  Sime. 
You  ask  for  the  mark,  I  don't  think  it's  fair, 
You'll  find  the  cow's  head  but  the  ear  isn't  there 
It's  a  crop  and  a  split  and  a  sort  of  a  twine, — 
All  stand  for  F.  but  it's  not  good  for  Sime. 

"  Get  up,  my  boys,"  Jim  Farrow  will  say, 
"  And  out  to  horse  hunting  before  it  is  day." 
So  we  get  up  and  are  out  on  the  way 
But  it's  damn  few  horses  we  find  before  day. 
"  Now  saddle  your  horses  and  out  on  the  peaks 

237 


Jim  Farrow 

To  see  if  the  heifers  are  out  on  the  creeks." 
We'll  round  'em  to-day  and  we'll  round  'em  to- 
morrow, 
And  this  ends  my  song  concerning  the  Farrows. 


238 


YOUNG  CHARLOTTIE 

YOUNG  Charlottie  lived  by  a  mountain  side  in 
a  wild  and  lonely  spot, 
There  was  no  village  for  miles  around  except  her 

father's  cot; 
And  yet  on  many  a  wintry  night  young  boys  would 

gather  there, — 

Her  father  kept  a  social  board,  and  she  was  very 
fair. 

One  New  Year's  Eve  as  the  sun  went  down,  she  cast 

a  wistful  eye 

Out  from  the  window  pane  as  a  merry  sleigh  went  by. 
At  a  village  fifteen  miles  away  was  to  be  a  ball  that 

night; 
Although  the  air  was  piercing  cold,  her  heart  was 

merry  and  light. 

At  last  her  laughing  eye  lit  up  as  a  well-known  voice 

she  heard, 
And  dashing  in  front  of  the  door  her  lover's  sleigh 

appeared. 
"  O  daughter,  dear,"  her  mother  said,  "  this  blanket 

round  you  fold, 
'Tis  such  a  dreadful  night  abroad  and  you  will  catch 

your  death  of  cold." 


239 


Young  Charlottie 

"Oh  no,  oh  no!  "  young  Charlottie  cried,  as  she 

laughed  like  a  gipsy  queen, 
"  To  ride  in  blankets  muffled  up,  I  never  would  be 

seen. 
My  silken  coat  is  quite  enough,  you  know  it  is  lined 

throughout, 
And  there  is  my  silken  scarf  to  wrap  my  head  and 

neck  about." 

Her  bonnet  and  her  gloves  were  on,  she  jumped  into 

the  sleigh, 
And  swiftly  slid  down  the  mountain  side  and  over 

the  hills  away. 

All  muffled  up  so  silent,  five  miles  at  last  were  past 
When  Charlie  with   few  but  shivering  words,   the 

silence  broke  at  last. 

"  Such  a  dreadful  night  I  never  saw,  my  reins  I  can 

scarcely  hold." 
Young  Charlottie  then  feebly  said,  "  I  am  exceedingly 

cold." 
He  cracked  his  whip   and  urged   his   speed   much 

faster  than  before, 
While  at  least  five  other  miles  in  silence  had  passed 

o'er. 

Spoke  Charles,  "  How  fast  the  freezing  ice  is  gath- 
ering on  my  brow!  " 
Young  Charlottie  then   feebly  said,   "  I'm  growing 


240 


Young  Charlottie 

So  on  they  sped  through  the  frosty  air  and  the  glit- 
tering cold  starlight 

Until  at  last  the  village  lights  and  the  ball-room  came 
in  sight. 

They  reached  the  door  and  Charles  sprang  out  and 

reached  his  hands  to  her. 
"  Why  sit  you  there  like  a  monument  that  has  no 

power  to  stir?  " 
He  called  her  once,  he  called  her  twice,  she  answered 

not  a  word, 
And  then  he  called  her  once  again  but  still  she  never 

stirred. 

He  took  her  hand  in  his ;  'twas  cold  and  hard  as  any 

stone. 
He  tore  the  mantle  from  her  face  while  cold  stars  on 

it  shone. 
Then  quickly  to  the  lighted  hall  her  lifeless  form 

he  bore ;  — 
Young   Charlottie's  eyes  were   closed   forever,   her 

voice  was  heard  no  more. 

And  there  he  sat  down  by  her  side  while  bitter  tears 
did  flow, 

And  cried,  "  My  own,  my  charming  bride,  you  never- 
more shall  know." 

He  twined  his  arms  around  her  neck  and  kissed  her 
marble  brow, 

And  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  where  she  said,  "  I'm 
growing  warmer  now." 
241 


Young  Charlottie 

He  took  her  back  into  the  sleigh  and  quickly  hurried 

home; 
When  he  arrived  at  her  father's  door,  oh,  how  her 

friends  did  mourn; 
They  mourned  the  loss  of  a  daughter  dear,  while 

Charles  wept  over  the  gloom, 
Till  at  last  he  died  with  the  bitter  grief, —  now  they 

both  lie  in  one  tomb. 


242 


THE    SKEW-BALL   BLACK 

IT  was  down  to  Red  River  I  came, 
Prepared  to  play  a  damned  tough  game, — 
Whoa !  skew,  till  I  saddle  you,  whoa ! 

I  crossed  the  river  to  the  ranch  where  I  intended  to 

work, 

With  a  big  six-shooter  and  a  derned  good  dirk, — 
Whoa !  skew,  till  I  saddle  you,  whoa  I 

They  roped  me  out  a  skew-ball  black 
With  a  double  set-fast  on  his  back, — 
Whoa !  skew,  till  I  saddle  you,  whoa  I 

And  when  I  was  mounted  on  his  back, 

The  boys  all  yelled,  "  Just  give  him  slack," — 

Whoa !  skew,  till  I  saddle  you,  whoa  1 

They  rolled  and  tumbled  and  yelled,  by  God, 
For  he  threw  me  a-whirling  all  over  the  sod, — 
Whoa !  skew,  till  I  saddle  you,  whoa ! 

I  went  to  the  boss  and  I  told  him  I'd  resign, 

The  fool  tumbled  over,  and  I  thought  he  was  dyin', — 

Whoa !  skew,  till  I  saddle  you,  whoa  I 

And  it's  to  Arkansaw  I'll  go  back, 
To  hell  with  Texas  and  the  skew-ball  black, — 
Whoa !  skew,  till  I  saddle  you,  whoa ! 

243 


THE    RAMBLING    COWBOY 

THERE  was  a  rich  old  rancher  who  lived  in  the 
country  by, 

He  had  a  lovely  daughter  on  whom  I  cast  my  eye; 
She  was  pretty,  tall,  and  handsome,  both  neat  and 

very  fair, 

There's  no  other  girl  in  the  country  with  her  I  could 
compare. 

I  asked  her  if  she  would  be  willing  for  me  to  cross 

the  plains; 

She  said  she1  would  be  truthful  until  I  returned  again ; 
She  said  she  would  be  faithful  until  death  did  prove 

unkind, 
So  we  kissed,  shook  hands,  and  parted,  and  I  left  my 

girl  behind. 

I  left  the  State  of  Texas,  for  Arizona  I  was  bound; 
I  landed  in  Tombstone  City,  I  viewed  the  place  all 

round. 
Money  and  work  were  plentiful  and  the  cowboys 

they  were  kind 
But  the  only  thought  of  my  heart  was  the  girl  I  left 

behind. 

One  day  as  I  was  riding  across  the  public  square 
The  mail-coach  came  in  and  I  met  the  driver  there; 

244 


The  Rambling  Cowboy 

He  handed  me  a  letter  which  gave  me  to  understand 
That  the  girl  I  left  in  Texas  had  married  another 
man. 

I  turned  myself  all  round  and  about  not  knowing 

what  to  do, 
But  I  read  on  down  some  further  and  it  proved  the 

words  were  true. 
Hard  work  I  have  laid  over,  it's  gambling  I  have 

designed. 
I'll  ramble  this  wide  world  over  for  the  girl  I  left 

behind. 

Come  all  you  reckless  and  rambling  boys  who  have 

listened  to  this  song, 
If  it  hasn't  done  you  any  good,  it  hasn't  done  you 

any  wrong; 
But  when  you  court  a  pretty  girl,  just  marry  her 

while  you  can, 
For  if  you  go  across  the  plains  she'll  marry  another 

man. 


245 


THE  COWBOY  AT  CHURCH 

SOME  time  ago, —  two  weeks  or  more 
If  I  remember  well, — 
I  found  myself  in  town  and  thought 
I'd  knock  around  a  spell, 
When  all  at  once  I  heard  the  bell, — 
I  didn't  know  'twas  Sunday, — 
For  on  the  plains  we  scarcely  know 
A  Sunday  from  a  Monday, — 

A-calling  all  the  people 

From  the  highways  and  the  hedges 

And  all  the  reckless  throng 

That  tread  ruin's  ragged  edges, 

To  come  and  hear  the  pastor  tell 

Salvation's  touching  story, 

And  how  the  new  road  misses  hell 

And  leads  you  straight  to  glory. 

I  started  by  the  chapel  door, 
But  something  urged  me  in, 
And  told  me  not  to  spend  God's  day 
In  revelry  and  sin. 
I  don't  go  much  on  sentiment, 
But  tears  came  in  my  eyes. 
It  seemed  just  like  my  mother's  voice 
Was  speaking  from  the  skies. 
246 


The  Cowboy  at  Church 

I  thought  how  often  she  had  gone 

With  little  Sis  and  me 

To  church,  when  I  was  but  a  lad 

Way  back  in  Tennessee. 

It  never  once  occurred  to  me 

About  not  being  dressed 

In  Sunday  rig,  but  carelessly 

I  went  in  with  the  rest. 

You  should  have  seen  the  smiles  and  shrugs 

As  I  went  walking  in, 

As  though  they  thought  my  leggins 

Worse  than  any  kind  of  sin; 

Although  the  honest  parson, 

In  his  vestry  garb  arrayed 

Was  dressed  the  same  as  I  was, — 

In  the  trappings  of  his  trade. 

The  good  man  prayed  for  all  the  world 

And  all  its  motley  crew, 

For  pagan,  Hindoo,  sinners,  Turk, 

And  unbelieving  Jew, — 

Though  the  congregation  doubtless  thought 

That  the  cowboys  as  a  race 

Were  a  kind  of  moral  outlaw 

With  no  good  claim  to  grace. 

Is  it  very  strange  that  cowboys  are 
A  rough  and  reckless  crew 
When  their  garb  forbids  their  doing  right 
As  Christian  peoole  do  ? 
247 


The  Cowboy  at  Church 

That  they  frequent  scenes  of  revelry 
Where  death  is  bought  and  sold, 
Where  at  least  they  get  a  welcome 
Though  it's  prompted  by  their  gold? 

Stranger,  did  it  ever  strike  you, 
When  the  winter  days  are  gone 
And  the  mortal  grass  is  springing  up 
To  meet  the  judgment  sun, 
And  we  'tend  mighty  round-ups 
Where,  according  to  the  Word, 
The  angel  cowboy  of  the  Lord 
Will  cut  the  human  herd, — 

That  a  heap  of  stock  that's  lowing  now 

Around  the  Master's  pen 

And  feeding  at  his  fodder  stack 

Will  have  the  brand  picked  then  ? 

And  brands  that  when  the  hair  was  long 

Looked  like  the  letter  C, 

Will  prove  to  be  the  devil's, 

And  the  brand  the  letter  D ; 

While  many  a  long-horned  coaster, — 
I  mean,  just  so  to  speak, — 
That  hasn't  had  the  advantage 
Of  the  range  and  gospel  creek 
Will  get  to  crop  the  grasses 
In  the  pasture  of  the  Lord 
If  the  letter  C  showed  up 
Beneath  the  devil's  checker  board. 
248 


THE  U.  S.  A.  RECRUIT 

NOW  list  to  my  song,  it  will  not  take  me  long, 
And  in  some  things  with  me  you'll  agree ; 
A  young  man  so  green  came  in  from  Moline, 
And  enlisted  a  soldier  to  be. 
He  had  lots  of  pluck,  on  himself  he  was  stuck, 
In  his  Government  straights  he  looked  "  boss," 
And  he  chewed  enough  beans  for  a  hoss. 

He  was  a  rookey,  so  flukey, 
He  was  a  jim  dandy  you  all  will  agree, 
He  said  without  fear,  "  Before  I'm  a  year 
In  the  Army,  great  changes  you'll  see." 
He  was  a  stone  thrower,  a  foam  blower, 
He  was  a  Loo  Loo  you  bet, 

He  stood  on  his  head  and  these  words  gently  said, 
"  I'll  be  second  George  Washington  yet." 

At  his  post  he  did  land,  they  took  him  in  hand, 

The  old  bucks  they  all  gathered  'round, 

Saying  u  Give  us  your  fist;  where  did  you  enlist? 

You'll  take  on  again  I'll  be  bound; 

I've  a  blanket  to  sell,  it  will  fit  you  quite  well, 

I'll  sell  you  the  whole  or  a  piece. 

I've  a  dress  coat  to  trade,  or  a  helmet  unmade, 

It  will  do  you  for  kitchen  police." 


249 


The  U.  S.  A.  Recruit 

Then  the  top  said,  "  My  Son,  here  is  a  gun, 

Just  heel  ball  that  musket  up  bright. 

In  a  few  days  or  more  you'll  be  rolling  in  gore, 

A-chasing  wild  Goo  Goos  to  flight. 

There'll  be  fighting,  you  see,  and  blood  flowing  free, 

We'll  send  you  right  on  to  the  front ; 

And  never  you  fear,  if  you're  wounded,  my  dear, 

You'll  be  pensioned  eight  dollars  per  month." 

He  was  worried  so  bad,  he  blew  in  all  he  had; 

He  went  on  a  drunk  with  goodwill. 

And  the  top  did  report,  "  One  private  short." 

When  he  showed  up  he  went  to  the  mill. 

The  proceedings  we  find  were  a  ten  dollar  blind, 

Ten  dollars  less  to  blow  foam. 

This  was  long  years  ago,  and  this  rookey  you  know 

Is  now  in  the  old  soldiers'  home. 


250 


THE  COWGIRL 

MY  love  is  a  rider  and  broncos  he  breaks, 
But  he's  given  up  riding  and  all  for  my  sake ; 
For  he  found  him  a  horse  and  it  suited  him  so 
He  vowed  he'd  ne'er  ride  any  other  bronco. 

My  love  has  a  gun,  and  that  gun  he  can  use, 
But  he's  quit  his  gun  fighting  as  well  as  his  booze; 
And  he's  sold  him  his  saddle,  his  spurs,  and  his  rope, 
And  there's  no  more  cow  punching,  and  that's  what  I 
hope. 

My  love  has  a  gun  that  has  gone  to  the  bad, 
Which  makes  poor  old  Jimmy  feel  pretty  damn  sad ; 
For  the  gun  it  shoots  high  and  the  gun  it  shoots  low, 
And  it  wobbles  about  like  a  bucking  bronco. 

The  cook  is  an  unfortunate  son  of  a  gun; 
He  has  to  be  up  e'er  the  rise  of  the  sun; 
His  language  is  awful,  his  curses  are  deep, — 
He  is  like  cascarets,  for  he  works  while  you  sleep. 


251 


THE  SHANTY  BOY 

I  AM  a  jolly  shanty  boy, 
As  you  will  soon  discover. 
To  all  the  dodges  I  am  fly, 
A  hustling  pine  woods  rover. 
A  peavy  hook  it  is  my  pride, 
An  ax  I  well  can  handle; 
To  fell  a  tree  or  punch  a  bull 
Get  rattling  Danny  Randall. 

Bung  yer  eye :  bung  yer  eye. 

I  love  a  girl  in  Saginaw; 

She  lives  with  her  mother; 

I  defy  all  Michigan 

To  find  such  another. 

She's  tall  and  fat,  her  hair  is  red, 

Her  face  is  plump  and  pretty, 

She's  my  daisy,  Sunday-best-day  girl,- 

And  her  front  name  stands  for  Kitty. 

Bung  yer  eye:  bung  yer  eye. 

I  took  her  to  a  dance  one  night, 
A  mossback  gave  the  bidding ; 
Silver  Jack  bossed  the  shebang 
And  Big  Dan  played  the  fiddle. 
252 


The  Shanty  Boy 

We  danced  and  drank,  the  livelong  night. 
With  fights  between  the  dancing  — 
Till  Silver  Jack  cleaned  out  the  ranch 
And  sent  the  mossbacks  prancing. 

Bung  yer  eye:  bung  yer  eye. 


253 


ROOT  HOG  OR  DIE 

WHEN  I  was  a  young  man  I  lived  on  the  square, 
I  never  had  any  pocket  change  and  I  hardly 

thought  it  fair; 

So  out  on  the  crosses  I  went  to  rob  and  to  steal, 
And  when  I  met  a  peddler  oh,  how  happy  I  did  feel. 

One  morning,  one  morning,  one  morning  in  May 
I  seen  a  man  a-coming,  a  little  bit  far  away; 
I  seen  a  man  a-coming,  come  riding  up  to  me 
"  Come  here,  come  here,  young  fellow,  Fm  after  you 
to-day." 

He  taken  me  to  the  new  jail,  he  taken  me  to  the  new 

jail, 

And  I  had  to  walk  right  in. 
There  all  my  friends  went  back  on  me 
And  also  my  kin. 

I  had  an  old  rich  uncle,  who  lived  in  the  West, 
He  heard  of  my  misfortune,  it  wouldn't  let  him  rest ; 
He  came  to  see  me,  he  paid  my  bills  and  score, — 
I  have  been  a  bad  boy,  I'll  do  so  no  more. 

There's  Minnie  and  Alice  and  Lucy  likewise, 
They  heard  of  my  misfortune  brought  tears  to  their 
eyes. 

254 


Root  Hog  or  Die 

I've  told  'em  my  condition,  I've  told  it  o'er  and  o'er ; 
So  I've  been  a  bad  boy,  I'll  do  so  no  more. 

I  will  go  to  East  Texas  to  marry  me  a  wife, 
And  try  to  maintain  her  the  balance  of  my  life ; 
I'll  try  to  maintain ;  I'll  lay  it  up  in  store 
IVe  been  a  bad  boy,  I'll  do  so  no  more. 

Young  man,  you  robber,  you  had  better  take  it  fair, 
Leave  off  your  marshal  killing  and  live  on  the  square ; 
Should  you  meet  the  marshal,  just  pass  him  by; 
And  travel  on  the  muscular,  for  it's  root  hog  or  die. 

When  I  drew  my  money  I  drew  it  all  in  cash 
And  off  to  see  my  Susan,  you  bet  I  cut  a  dash; 
I  spent  my  money  freely  and  went  it  on  a  bum, 
And  I  love  the  pretty  women  and  am  bound  to  have 
my  fun. 

I  used  to  sport  a  white  hat,  a  horse  and  buggy  fine, 
Courted  a  pretty  girl  and  always  called  her  mine ; 
But  all  my  courtships  proved  to  be  in  vain, 
For  they  sent  me  down  to  Huntsville  to  wear  the 
ball  and  chain. 

Along  came  my  true  love,  about  twelve  o'clock, 
Saying,  "  Henry,  O  Henry,  what  sentence  have  you 

got?" 
The  jury  found  me  guilty,  the  judge  would  allow  no 

stay, 
So  they  sent  me  down  to  Huntsville  to  wear  my  life 

away. 

255 


Root  Hog  or  Die 


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i 


SWEET  BETSY  FROM  PIKE 
"  A  California  Immigrant  Song  of  the  Fifties  " 

OH,  don't  you  remember  sweet  Betsy  from  Pike 
Who  crossed  the  big  mountains  with  her  lover 

Ike, 

And  two  yoke  of  cattle,  a  large  yellow  dog, 
A  tall,  shanghai  rooster,  and  one  spotted  dog? 
Saying,  good-bye,  Pike  County, 
Farewell  for  a  while; 
We'll  come  back  again 
When  we've  panned  out  our  pile. 

One  evening  quite  early  they  camped  on  the  Platte, 
'Twas  near  by  the  road  on  a  green  shady  flat; 
Where  Betsy,  quite  tired,  lay  down  to  repose, 
While  with  wonder  Ike  gazed  on  >his  Pike  County 
rose. 

They  soon  reached  the  desert,  where  Betsy  gave  out, 
And  down  in  the  sand  she  lay  rolling  about ; 
While  Ike  in  great  terror  looked  on  in  surprise, 
Saying  "  Betsy,  get  up,  you'll  get  sand  in  your  eyes." 

Saying,  good-bye,  Pike  County, 

Farewell  for  a  while; 

I'd  go  back  to-night 

If  it  was  but  a  mile. 
258 


Sweet  Betsy  from  Pike 

Sweet  Betsy  got  up  in  a  great  deal  of  pain 
And  declared  she'd  go  back  to  Pike  County  again; 
Then  Ike  heaved  a  sigh  and  they  fondly  embraced, 
And  she  traveled  along  with  his  arm  around  her 
waist. 

The  wagon  tipped  over  with  a  terrible  crash, 
And  out  on  the  prairie  rolled  all  sorts  of  trash; 
A  few  little  baby  clothes  done  up  with  care 
Looked  rather  suspicious, —  though  'twas  all  on  the 
square. 

The  shanghai  ran  off  and  the  cattle  all  died, 
The  last  piece  of  bacon  that  morning  was  fried; 
Poor  Ike  got  discouraged,  and  Betsy  got  mad, 
The  dog  wagged  his  tail  and  looked  wonderfully  sad. 

One  morning  they  climbed  up  a  very  high  hill, 
And  with  wonder  looked  down  into  old  Placerville ; 
Ike  shouted  and  said,  as  he  cast  his  eyes  down, 
"  Sweet  Betsy,  my  darling,  we've  got  to  Hangtown." 

Long  Ike  and  sweet  Betsy  attended  a  dance, 
Where  Ike  wore  a  pair  of  his  Pike  County  pants; 
Sweet  Betsy  was  covered  with  ribbons  and  rings. 
Quoth  Ike,  "  You're  an  angel,  but  where  are  your 
wings  ?  " 


259 


Sweet  Betsy  from  Pike 

A  miner  said,  "  Betsy,  will  you  dance  with  me?  " 
"  I  will  that,  old  hoss,  if  you  don't  make  too  free; 
But  don't  dance  me  hard.     Do  you  want  to  know 

why? 
Dog  on  ye,  I'm  chock  full  of  strong  alkali." 

Long  Ike  and  sweet  Betsy  got  married  of  course, 

But  Ike  getting  jealous  obtained  a  divorce; 

And  Betsy,  well  satisfied,  said  with  a  shout, 

"  Good-bye,  you  big  lummax,  I'm  glad  you  backed 


out." 


Saying,  good-bye,  dear  Isaac, 
Farewell  for  a  while, 
But  come  back  in  time 
To  replenish  my  pile. 


260 


THE   DISHEARTENED   RANGER 

GOME    listen    to    a    ranger,    you    kind-hearted 
stranger, 
This  song,  though  a  sad  one,  you're  welcome  to 

hear; 

We've  kept  the  Comanches  away  from  your  ranches, 
And  followed  them  far  o'er  the  Texas  frontier. 

We're  weary  of  scouting,  of  traveling,  and  routing 
The  blood-thirsty  villains  o'er  prairie  and  wood; 
No  rest  for  the  sinner,  no  breakfast  or  dinner, 
But  he  lies  in  a  supperless  bed  in  the  mud. 

No  corn  nor  potatoes,  no  bread  nor  tomatoes, 
But  jerked  beef  as  dry  as  the  sole  of  your  shoe; 
All  day  without  drinking,  all  night  without  winking, 
I'll  tell  you,  kind  stranger,  this  never  will  do. 

Those  great  alligators,  the  State  legislators, 
Are  puffing  and  blowing  two-thirds  of  their  time, 
But  windy  orations  about  rangers  and  rations 
Never  put  in  our  pockets  one-tenth  of  a  dime. 

They  do  not  regard  us,  they  will  not  reward  us, 
Though  hungry  and  haggard  with  holes  in  our  coats ; 
But  the  election  is  coming  and  they  will  be  drum- 
ming 

And  praising  our  valor  to  purchase  our  votes. 

261 


The  Disheartened  Ranger 

For  glory  and  payment,  for  vittles  and  raiment, 

No  longer  we'll  fight  on  the  Texas  frontier. 

So  guard  your  own  ranches,  and  mind  the   Com- 

anches 
Or  surely  they'll  scalp  you  in  less  than  a  year. 

Though  sore  it  may  grieve  you,  the  rangers  must 

leave  you 

Exposed  to  the  arrows  and  knife  of  the  foe ; 
So  herd  your  own  cattle  and  fight  your  own  battle, 
For  home  to  the  States  I'm  determined  to  go, — 

Where  churches  have  steeples  and  laws  are  more 

equal, 

Where  houses  have  people  'and  ladies  are  kind; 
Where  work  is  regarded  and  worth  is  rewarded; 
Where  pumpkins  are  plenty  and  pockets  are  lined. 

Your  wives  and  your  daughters  we  have  guarded 

from  slaughter, 

Through  conflicts  and  struggles  I  shudder  to  tell; 
No  more  we'll  defend  them,  to  God  we'll  commend 

them. 
To  the  frontier  of  Texas  we  bid  a  farewell. 


262 


THE  MELANCHOLY  COWBOY 

GOME  all  you  melancholy  folks  and  listen  unto 
me, 
I  will  sing  you  about  the  cowboy  whose  heart's  so 

light  and  free; 
He  roves  all  over  the  prairie  and  at  night  when  he 

lays  down 

His  heart's  as  gay  as  the  flowers  of  May  with  his 
bed  spread  on  the  ground. 

They  are  a  little  bit  rough,  I  must  confess,  the  most 

of  them  at  least; 
But  as  long  as  you  do  not  cross  their  trail,  you  can 

live  with  them  in  peace. 
But  if  you  do,  they're  sure  to  rule,  the  day  you  come 

to  their  land, 
For  they'll  follow  you  up  and  shoot  it  out,  they'll  do 

it  man  to  man. 

You  can  go  to  a  cowboy  hungry,  go  to  him  wet  or 

dry, 
And  ask  him  for  a  few  dollars  in  change  and  he  will 

not  deny; 
He  will  pull  out  his  pocket-book  and  hand  you  out 

a  note, — 
Oh,  they  are  the  fellows  to  strike,  boys,  whenever 

you  are  broke. 

263 


The  Melancholy  Cowboy 

You  can  go  to  their  ranches  and  often  stay  for  weeks, 
And  when  you  go  to  leave,  boys,  they'll  never  charge 

you  a  cent; 
But  when  they  go  to  town,  boys,  you  bet  their  money 

is  spent. 
They  walk  right  up,  they  take  their  drinks  and  they 

pay  for  every  one. 
They  never  ask  your  pardon,  boys,  for  a  thing  that 

they  have  done. 

They  go  to  the  ball-room,  and  swing  the  pretty  girls 

around;  * 

They  ride  their  bucking  broncos,   and  wear  their 

broad-brimmed  hats; 
Their  California   saddles,   their  pants  below  their 

boots, 
You  can  hear  their  spurs  go  jing-a-ling,  or  perhaps 

somebody  shoots. 

Come  all  you  soft  and  tenderfeet,  if  you  want  to 

have  some  fun, 
Come  go  among  the  cowboys  and  they'll  show  you 

how  it's  done; 
But  take  the  kind  advice  of  me  as  I  gave  it  to  you 

before, 
For  if  you  don't,  they'll  order  you  off  with  an  old 

Colt's  forty-four. 


264 


BOB  STANFORD 

BOB  Stanford,  he's  a  Texas  boy, 
He  lives  down  on  the  flat; 
His  trade  is  running  a  well-drill, 
But  he's  none  the  worse  for  that. 

He  is  neither  rich  nor  handsome, 
But,  unlike  the  city  dude, 
His  manners  they  are  pleasant 
Instead  of  flip  and  rude. 

His  people  live  in  Texas, 
That  is  his  native  home, 
But  like  many  other  Western  lads 
He  drifted  off  from  home. 

He  came  out  to  New  Mexico 

A  fortune  for  to  make, 

He  punched  the  bottom  out  of  the  earth 

And  never  made  a  stake. 

So  he  came  to  Arizona 
And  again  set  up  his  drill 
To  punch  a  hole  for  water, 
And  he's  punching  at  it  still. 

He  says  he  is  determined 
To  make  the  business  stick 
265 


Bob  Stanford 

Or  spend  that  derned  old  well  machine 
And  all  he  can  get  on  tick. 

I  hope  he  is  successful 
And  I'll  help  him  if  I  can, 
For  I  admire  pluck  and  ambition 
In  an  honest  working  man. 

So  keep  on  going  down, 

Punch  the  bottom  out,  or  try, 

There  is  nothing  in  a  hole  in  the  ground 

That  continues  being  dry. 


266 


CHARLIE  RUTLAGE 

ANOTHER    good    cow-puncher   has    gone    to 
meet  his  fate, 
I  hope  he'll  find  a  resting  place  within  the  golden 

gate. 

Another  place  is  vacant  on  the  ranch  of  the  X  I  T, 
'Twill  be  hard  to  find  another  that's  liked  as  well  as 
he. 

The  first  that  died  was  Kid  White,  a  man  both  tough 

and  brave, 
While  Charlie  Rutlage  makes  the  third  to  be  sent 

to  his  grave, 
Caused  by  a  cow-horse  falling  while  running  after 

stock ; 
'Twas  on  the  spring  round-up, —  a  place  where  death 

men  mock. 

He  went  forward  one  morning  on  a  circle  through 

the  hills, 
He  was  gay  and  full  of  glee,  and  free  from  earthly 

ills; 
But  when  it  came  to  finish  up  the  work  on  which  he 

went, 
Nothing  came  back  from  him ;  for  his  time  on  earth 

was  spent. 

267 


Charlie  Rutlage 

'Twas  as  he  rode  the  round-up,  an  X  I  T  turned  back 
to  the  herd; 

Poor  Charlie  shoved  him  in  again,  his  cutting  horse 
he  spurred; 

Another  turned;  at  that  moment  his  horse  the  crea- 
ture spied 

And  turned  and  fell  with  him,  and  beneath,  poor 
Charlie  died. 

His  relations  in  Texas  his  face  never  more  will  see, 
But  I  hope  he  will  meet  his  loved  ones  beyond  in 

eternity. 
I  hope  he  will  meet  his  parents,  will  meet  them  face 

to  face, 
And  that  they  will  grasp  him  by  the  right  hand  at 

the  shining  throne  of  grace. 


268 


THE  RANGE  RIDERS 

COME  all  you  range  riders  and  listen  to  me, 
I  will  relate  you  a  story  of  the  saddest  de- 
gree, 

I  will  relate  you  a  story  of  the  deepest  distress, — 
I  love  my  poor  Lulu,  boys,  of  all  girls  the  best. 

When  you  are  out  riding,  boys,  upon  the  highway, 

Meet  a  fair  damsel,  a  lady  so  gay, 

With  her  red,  rosy  cheeks  and  her  sparkling  dark 

eyes, 
Just  think  of  my  Lulu,  boys,  and  your  bosoms  will 

rise. 

While  you  live  single,  boys,  you  are  just  in  your 

prime; 
You  have  no  wife  to  scold,  you  have  nothing  to 

bother  your  minds; 
You  can  roam  this  world  over  and  do  just  as  you 

will, 
Hug  and  kiss  the  pretty  girls  and  be  your  own  still. 

But  when  you  get  married,  boys,  you  are  done  with 

this  life, 
You  have  sold  your  sweet  comfort  for  to  gain  you 

a  wife; 


269 


The  Range  Riders 

Your  wife  she  will  scold  you,  and  the  children  will 

cry, 
It  will  make  those  fair  faces  look  withered  and  dry. 

You  can  scarcely  step  aside,  boys,  to  speak  to  a 

friend 
But  your  wife  is  at  your  elbow  saying  what  do  you 

mean. 
With  her  nose  turned  upon  you  it  will  look  like  sad 

news, — 
I  advise  you  by  experience  that  life  to  refuse. 

Come   fill   up   your   bottles,    boys,    drink   Bourbon 

around ; 

Here  is  luck  to  the  single  wherever  they  are  found. 
Here  is  luck  to  the  single  and  I  wish  them  success, 
Likewise  to  the  married  ones,  I  wish  them  no  less. 

I  have  one  more  request  to  make,  boys,  before  we 
part. 

Never  place  your  affection  on  a  charming  sweet- 
heart. 

She  is  dancing  before  you  your  affections  to  gain; 

Just  turn  your  back  on  them  with  scorn  and  disdain. 


270 


HER  WHITE  BOSOM  BARE 

THE  sun  had  gone  down 
O'er  the  hills  of  the  west, 
And  the  last  beams  had  faded 
O'er  the  mossy  hill's  crest, 
O'er  the  beauties  of  nature 
And  the  charms  of  the  fair, 
And  Amanda  was  bound 
With  her  white  bosom  bare. 

At  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
Amanda  did  sigh 
At  the  hoot  of  an  owl 
Or  the  catamount's  cry; 
Or  the  howl  of  some  wolf 
In  its  low,  granite  cell, 
Or  the  crash  of  some  large 
Forest  tree  as  it  fell. 

Amanda  was  there 
All  friendless  and  forlorn 
With  her  face  bathed  in  blood 
And  her  garments  all  torn. 
The  sunlight  had  faded 
O'er  the  hills  of  the  green, 
And  fierce  was  the  look 
Of  the  wild,  savage  scene. 
271 


Her  White  Bosom  Bare 

For  it  was  out  in  the  forest 
Where  the  wild  game  springs, 
Where  low  in  the  branches 
The  rude  hammock  swings; 
The  campfire  was  kindled, 
Well  fanned  by  the  breeze, 
And  the  light  of  the  campfire 
Shone  round  on  the  trees. 

The  campfire  was  kindled, 
Well  fanned  by  the  breeze, 
And  the  light  of  the  fire 
Shone  round  on  the  trees; 
And  grim  stood  the  circle 
Of  the  warrior  throng, 
Impatient  to  join 
In  the  war-dance  and  song. 

The  campfire  was  kindled, 
Each  warrior  was  there, 
And  Amanda  was  bound 
With  her  white  bosom  bare. 
She  counted  the  vengeance 
In  the  face  of  her  foes 
And  sighed  for  the  moment 
When  her  sufferings  might  close. 

Young  Albon,  he  gazed 
On  the  face  of  the  fair 
While  her  dark  hazel  eyes 
272 


Her  White  Bosom  Bare 

Were  uplifted  in  prayer; 
And  her  dark  waving  tresses 
In  ringlets  did  flow 
Which  hid  from  the  gazer 
A  bosom  of  snow. 

Then  young  Albon,  the  chief 
Of  the  warriors,  drew  near, 
With  an  eye  like  an  eagle 
And  a  step  like  a  deer. 

"  Forbear,11  cried  he, 

"  Your  torture  forbear; 
This  maiden  shall  live. 
By  my  wampum  I  swear. 

"  It  is  for  this  maiden's  freedom 
That  I  do  crave; 
Give  a  sigh  for  her  suffering 
Or  a  tear  for  her  grave. 
If  there  is  a  victim 
To  be  burned  at  that  tree, 
Young  Albon,  your  leader, 
That  victim  shall  be." 

Then  quick  to  the  arms 
Of  Amanda  he  rushed; 
The  rebel  was  dead, 
And  the  tumult  was  hushed; 
And  grim  stood  the  circle 
Of  warriors  around 
273 


Her  White  Bosom  Bare 

While  the  cords  of  Amanda 
Young  Albon  unbound. 

So  it  was  early  next  morning 
The  red,  white,  and  blue 
Went  gliding  o'er  the  waters 
In  a  small  birch  canoe; 
Just  like  the  white  swan 
That  glides  o'er  the  tide, 
Young  Albon  and  Amanda 
O'er  the  waters  did  ride. 

O'er  the  blue,  bubbling  water, 
Neath  the  evergreen  trees, 
Young  Albon  and  Amanda 
Did  ride  at  their  ease; 
And  great  was  the  joy 
When  she  stepped  on  the  shore 
To  embrace  her  dear  father 
And  mother  once  more. 

Young  Albon,  he  stood 
And  enjoyed  their  embrace, 
With  a  sigh  in  his  heart 
And  a  tear  on  his  face; 
And  all  that  he  asked 
Was  kindness  and  food 
From  the  parents  of  Amanda 
To  the  chief  of  the  woods. 

274 


Her  White  Bosom  Bare 

Young  Amanda  is  home  now, 
As  you  all  know, 
Enjoying  the  friends 
Of  her  own  native  shore; 
Nevermore  will  she  roam 
O'er  the  hills  or  the  plains; 
She  praises  the  chief 
That  loosened  her  chains. 


275 


JUAN  MURRAY 

MY  name  is  Juan  Murray,  and  hard  for  my  fate, 
I  was  born  and  raised  in  Texas,  that  good 

old  lone  star  state. 
I  have  been  to  many  a  round-up,  boys,  have  worked 

on  the  trail, 
Have  stood  many  a  long  old  guard  through  the  rain, 

yes,  sleet,  and  hail ; 
I  have  rode  the  Texas  broncos  that  pitched  from 

morning  till  noon, 

And  have  seen  many  a  storm,  boys,  between  sunrise, 
yes,  and  noon. 

I  am  a  jolly  cowboy  and  have  roamed  all  over  the 

West, 

And  among  the  bronco  riders  I  rank  among  the  best. 
But  when  I  left  old  Midland,  with  voice  right  then  I 

spoke, — 
"  I  never  will  see  you  again  until  the  day  I  croak.'* 

But  since  I  left  old  Texas  so  many  sights  I  have  saw 
A-traveling    from    my    native    state    way    out    to 

Mexico, — 
I  am  looking  all  around  me  and  cannot  help  but 

smile 
To  see  my  nearest  neighbors  all   in  the  Mexican 

style. 

276 


Juan  Murray 

I  left  my  home  in  Texas  to  dodge  the  ball  and  chain. 
In  the  State  of  Sonora  I  will  forever  remain. 
Farewell  to  my  mother,  my  friends  that  are  so  dear, 
I  would  like  to  see  you  all  again,  my  lonesome  heart 
to  cheer. 

I  have  a  word  to  speak,  boys,  only  another  to  say, — 
Don't  never  be  a  cow-thief,  don't  never  ride  a  stray ; 
Be  careful  of  your  line,  boys,  and  keep  it  on  your 

tree, — 
Just  suit  yourself  about  it,  for  it  is  nothing  to  me. 

But  if  you  start  to  rustling  you  will  come  to  some 

sad  fate, 

You  will  have  to  go  to  prison  and  work  for  the  state. 
Don't  think  that  I  am  lying  and  trying  to  tell  a  joke, 
For  the  writer  has  experienced  just  every  word  he's 

spoke. 

It  is  better  to  be  honest  and  let  other's  stock  alone 

Than  to  leave  your  native  country  and  seek  a  Mex- 
ican home. 

For  if  you  start  to  rustling  you  will  surely  come  to 
see 

The  State  of  Sonora, —  be  an  outcast  just  like  me. 


277 


GREER  COUNTY 

F  I^OM  HIGHT  is  my  name,  an  old  bachelor  I  am, 
X.     You'll  find  me  out  West  in  the  country  of 

fame, 

You'll  find  me  out  West  on  an  elegant  plain, 
And  starving  to  death  on  my  government  claim. 

Hurrah  for  Greer  County! 
The  land  of  the  free, 
The  land  of  the  bed-bug, 
Grass-hopper  and  flea; 
I'll  sing  of  its  praises 
And  tell  of  its  fame, 
While  starving  to  death 
On  my  government  claim. 

My  house  is  built  of  natural  sod, 

Its  walls  are  erected  according  to  hod; 

Its  roof  has  no  pitch  but  is  level  and  plain, 

I  always  get  wet  if  it  happens  to  rain. 

How  happy  am  I  on  my  government  claim, 
I've  nothing  to  lose,  and  nothing  to  gain ; 
I've  nothing  to  eat,  I've  nothing  to  wear, — 
From  nothing  to  nothing  is  the  hardest  fare. 

How  happy  am  I  when  I  crawl  into  bed, — 
A  rattlesnake  hisses  a  tune  at  my  head, 

278 


Greer  County 

A  gay  little  centipede,  all  without  fear, 
Crawls  over  my  pillow  and  into  my  ear. 

Now  all  you  claim  holders,  I  hope  you  will  stay 
And  chew  your  hard  tack  till  you're  toothless  and 

gray; 

But  for  myself,  I'll  no  longer  remain 
To  starve  like  a  dog  on  my  government  claim. 

My  clothes  are  all  ragged  as  my  language  is  rough, 
My  bread  is  corn  dodgers,  both  solid  and  tough; 
But  yet  I  am  happy,  and  live  at  my  ease 
On  sorghum  molasses,  bacon,  and  cheese. 

Good-bye  to  Greer  County  where  blizzards  arise, 
Where  the  sun  never  sinks  and  a  flea  never  dies, 
And  the  wind  never  ceases  but  always  remains 
Till  it  starves  us  all  out  on  our  government  claims. 

Farewell  to  Greer  County,  farewell  to  the  West, 
I'll  travel  back  East  to  the  girl  I  love  best, 
I'll  travel  back  to  Texas  and  marry  me  a  wife, 
And  quit  corn  bread  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 


279 


ROSIN  THE  BOW 

I   LIVE  for  the  good  of  my  nation 
And  my  sons  are  all  growing  low, 
But  I  hope  that  my  next  generation 
Will  resemble  Old  Rosin  the  Bow. 

I  have  traveled  this  wide  world  all  over, 
And  now  to  another  I'll  go, 
For  I  know  that  good  quarters  are  waiting 
To  welcome  Old  Rosin  the  Bow. 

The  gay  round  of  delights  I  have  traveled, 
Nor  will  I  behind  leave  a  woe, 
For  while  my  companions  are  jovial 
They'll  drink  to  Old  Rosin  the  Bow. 

This  life  now  is  drawn  to  a  closing, 
All  will  at  last  be  so, 

Then  we'll  take  a  full  bumper  at  parting 
To  the  name  of  Old  Rosin  the  Bow. 

When  I  am  laid  out  on  the  counter, 
And  the  people  all  anxious  to  know, 
Just  raise  up  the  lid  of  the  coffin 
And  look  at  Old  Rosin  the  Bow. 

And  when  through  the  streets  my  friends  bear  me, 
And  the  ladies  are  filled  with  deep  woe, 

280 


Rosin  the  Bow 

They'll  come  to  the  doors  and  the  windows 
And  sigh  for  Old  Rosin  the  Bow. 

Then  get  some  fine,  jovial  fellows, 
And  let  them  all  staggering  go; 
Then  dig  a  deep  hole  in  the  meadow 
And  in  it  toss  Rosin  the  Bow. 

Then  get  a  couple  of  dornicks, 
Place  one  at  my  head  and  my  toe, 
And  do  not  forget  to  scratch  on  them, 
"  Here  lies  Old  Rosin  the  Bow." 

Then  let  those  same  jovial  fellows 
Surround  my  lone  grave  in  a  row, 
While  they  drink  from  my  favorite  bottle 
The  health  of  Old  Rosin  the  Bow. 


281 


THE  GREAT  ROUND-UP 

WHEN  I  think  of  the  last  great  round-up 
On  the  eve  of  eternity's  dawn, 
I  think  of  the  past  of  the  cowboys 
Who  have  been  with  us  here  and  are  gone. 
And  I  wonder  if  any  will  greet  me 
On  the  sands  of  the  evergreen  shore 
With  a  hearty,  "  God  bless  you,  old  fellow," 
That  IVe  met  with  so  often  before. 

I  think  of  the  big-hearted  fellows 

Who  will  divide  with  you  blanket  and  bread, 

With  a  piece  of  stray  beef  well  roasted, 

And  charge  for  it  never  a  red. 

I  often  look  upward  and  wonder 

If  the  green  fields  will  seem  half  so  fair, 

If  any  the  wrong  trail  have  taken 

And  fail  to  "  be  in  "  over  there. 

For  the  trail  that  leads  down  to  perdition 
Is  paved  all  the  way  with  good  deeds, 
But  in  the  great  round-up  of  ages, 
Dear  boys,  this  won't  answer  your  needs. 
But  the  way  to  the  green  pastures,  though  narrow, 
Leads  straight  to  the  home  in  the  sky, 
And  Jesus  will  give  you  the  passports 
To  the  land  of  the  sweet  by  and  by. 

282 


The  Great  Round-Up 

For  the  Savior  has  taken  the  contract 
To  deliver  all  those  who  believe, 
At  the  headquarters  ranch  of  his  Father, 
In  the  great  range  where  none  can  deceive. 
The  Inspector  will  stand  at  the  gateway 
And  the  herd,  one  by  one,  will  go  by, — 
The  round-up  by  the  angels  in  judgment 
Must  pass  'neath  his  all-seeing  eye. 

No  maverick  or  slick  will  be  tallied 
In  the  great  book  of  life  in  his  home, 
For  he  knows  all  the  brands  and  the  earmarks 
That  down  through  the  ages  have  come. 
But,  along  with  the  tailings  and  sleepers, 
The  strays  must  turn  from  the  gate; 
No  road  brand  to  gain  them  admission, 
But  the  awful  sad  cry  "  too  late." 

Yet  I  trust  in  the  last  great  round-up 
When  the  rider  shall  cut  the  big  herd, 
That  the  cowboys  shall  be  represented 
In  the  earmark  and  brand  of  the  Lord, 
To  be  shipped  to  the  bright,  mystic  regions 
Over  there  in  green  pastures  to  lie, 
And  led  by  the  crystal  still  waters 
In  that  home  of  the  sweet  by  and  by. 


283 


THE  JOLLY  COWBOY 

MY  lover,  He  is  a  cowboy,  he's  brave  and  kind 
and  true, 

He  rides  a  Spanish  pony,  he  throws  a  lasso,  too; 
And  when  he  comes  to  see  me  our  vows  we  do  redeem, 
He  throws  his  arms  around  me  and  thus  begins  to 
sing: 

"  Ho,  I'm  a  jolly  cowboy,  from  Texas  now  I  hail, 
Give  me  my  quirt  and  pony,  I'm  ready  for  the 

trail  ; 
I  love  the  rolling  prairies,  they're  free  from 

care  and  strife, 
Behind  a  herd  of  longhorns  I'll  journey  all  my 

life. 

'  When  early  dawn  is  breaking  and  we  are  far  away, 
We  fall  into  our  saddles,  we  round-up  all  the  day; 
We  rope,  we  brand,  we  ear-mark,  I  tell  you  we  are 

smart, 
And  when  the  herd  is  ready,  for  Kansas  then  we 

start. 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  Texas  cowboy,  lighthearted,  brave,  and 

free, 
To  roam  the  wide,  wide  prairie,  'tis  always  joy  to 

me. 

284 


The  Jolly  Cowboy 

My  trusty  little  pony  is  my  companion  true, 
O'er  creeks  and  hills  and  rivers  he's  sure  to  pull  me 
through. 

"  When  threatening  clouds  do  gather  and  herded 

lightnings  flash, 
And  heavy  rain  drops  splatter,  and  rolling  thunders 

crash; 
What  keeps  the  herd  from  running,  stampeding  far 

and  wide? 
The  cowboy's  long,  low  whistle  and  singing  by  their 

side. 

"  When  in  Kansas  City,  our  boss  he  pays  us  up, 
We  loaf  around  the  city  and  take  a  parting  cup; 
We  bid  farewell  to  city  life,  from  noisy  crowds  we 

come, 
And  back  to  dear  old  Texas,  the  cowboy's  native 

home." 

Oh,  he  is  coming  back  to  marry  the  only  girl  he 

loves, 

He  says  I  am  his  darling,  I  am  his  own  true  love ; 
Some  day  we  two  will  marry  and  then  no  more  he'll 

roam, 
But  settle  down  with  Mary  in  a  cozy  little  home. 

"  Ho,  I'm  a  jolly  cowboy,  from  Texas  now  I  hail, 
Give  me  my  bond  to  Mary,  I'll  quit  the  Lone 
Star  trail. 

285 


The  Jolly  Cowboy 

I  love  the  rolling  prairies,  they're  free  from 

care  and  strife, 
But  I'll  quit  the  herd  of  longhorns  for  the  sake 

of  my  little  wife." 


286 


The  Texas  Cowboy 

Mrs.  Robert  Thomson 


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Copyright,  1886,  by  Thos.  Goggan  &  Bro.     By  permission. 


The  Texas  Cowboy—  Continued 


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The  Texas  Cowboy—  Concluded 


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THE  CONVICT 

WHEN  slumbering  in  my  convict  cell  my  child- 
hood days  I  see, 
When    I    was    mother's    little    child    and   knelt    at 

mother's  knee. 
There  my  life  was  peace,  I  know,  I  knew  no  sorrow 

or  pain. 

Mother  dear  never  did  think,  I  know,  I  would  wear 
a  felon's  chain. 

Clink,  clink,  clink,  clink,  clink, 

Ah,  don't  you  hear  the  clinking  of  my  chain  ? 

Clink,  clink,  clink,  clink,  clink, 

Ah,  don't  you  hear  the  clinking  of  my  chain? 

When  I  had  grown  to  manhood  and  evil  paths  I 

trod, 
I  learned  to  scorn  my  fellow-man  and  even  curse  my 

God; 
And  in  the  evil  course  I  ran  for  a  great  length  of 

time 
Till  at  last  I  ran  too  long  and  was  condemned  for  a 

felon's  crime. 

My  prison  life  will  soon  be  o'er,  my  life  will  soon  be 
gone,— 


290 


The  Convict 

May  the  angels  waft  it  heavenward  to  a  bright  and 

happy  home. 
I'll  be  at  rest,  sweet,  sweet  rest,  there  is  rest  in  the 

heavenly  home; 
I'll  be  at  rest,  sweet,  sweet  rest,  there  is  rest  in  the 

heavenly  home. 

Clink,  clink,  clink,  clink,  clink, 

Ah,  don't  you  hear  the  clinking  of  my  chain  ? 

Clink,  clink,  clink,  clink,  clink, 

Ah,  don't  you  hear  the  clinking  of  my  chain  ? 


291 


JACK  O'  DIAMONDS 

OMOLLIE,  O  Mollie,  it  is  for  your  sake  alone 
That  I  leave  my  old  parents,  my  house  and 

my  home, 
That  I   leave  my  old  parents,   you   caused  me   to 

roam, — 
I  am  a  rabble  soldier  and  Dixie  is  my  home. 

Jack  o'  diamonds,  Jack  o'  diamonds, 

I  know  you  of  old, 

You've  robbed  my  poor  pockets 

Of  silver  and  gold. 

Whiskey,  you  villain, 

You've  been  my  downfall, 

You've  kicked  me,  you've  cuffed  me, 

But  I  love  you  for  all. 

My  foot's  in  my  stirrup,  my  bridle's  in  my  hand, 
I'm  going  to  leave  sweet  Mollie,  the  fairest  in  the 

land. 

Her  parents  don't  like  me,  they  say  I'm  too  poor, 
They  say  I'm  unworthy  to  enter  her  door. 

They  say  I  drink  whiskey ;  my  money  is  my  own, 
And  them  that  don't  like  me  can  leave  me  alone. 
I'll  eat  when  I'm  hungry,  I'll  drink  when  I'm  dry, 
And  when  I  get  thirsty  I'll  lay  down  and  cry. 

292 


Jack  o'  Diamonds 

It's  beefsteak  when  I'm  hungry, 

And  whiskey  when  I'm  dry, 

Greenbacks  when  I'm  hard  up, 

And  heaven  when  I  die. 

Rye  whiskey,  rye  whiskey, 

Rye  whiskey  I  cry, 

If  I  don't  get  rye  whiskey, 

I  surely  will  die. 

O  Baby,  O  Baby,  Fve  told  you  before, 
Do  make  me  a  pallet,  I'll  lie  on  the  floor. 

I  will  build  me  a  big  castle  on  yonder  mountain  high, 

Where  my  true  love  can  see  me  when  she  comes  rid- 
ing by, 

Where  my  true  love  can  see  me  and  help  me  to 
mourn, — 

I  am  a  rabble  soldier  and  Dixie  is  my  home. 

I'll  get  up  in  my  saddle,  my  quirt  I'll  take  in  hand, 
I'll  think  of  you,  Mollie,  when  in  some  far  distant 

land, 

I'll  think  of  you,  Mollie,  you  caused  me  to  roam, — 
I  am  a  rabble  soldier  and  Dixie  is  my  home. 

If  the  ocean  was  whiskey, 
And  I  was  a  duck, 
I'd  dive  to  the  bottom 
To  get  one  sweet  sup; 
But  the  ocean  ain't  whiskey, 
And  I  ain't  a  duck, 

293 


Jack  o'  Diamonds 

So  I'll  play  Jack  o'  diamonds 

And  then  we'll  get  drunk. 

O  Baby,  O  Baby,  I've  told  you  before, 
Do  make  me  a  pallet,  I'll  lie  on  the  floor. 

I've  rambled  and  trambled  this  wide  world  around, 
But  it's  for  the  rabble  army,  dear  Mollie,  I'm  bound, 
It  is  to  the  rabble  army,  dear  Mollie,  I  roam, — 
I  am  a  rabble  soldier  and  Dixie  is  my  home. 

I  have  rambled  and  gambled  all  my  money  away, 
But  it's  with  the  rabble  army,  O  Mollie,  I  must  stay, 
It  is  with  the  rabble  army,  O  Mollie  I  must  roam, — 
I  am  a  rabble  soldier  and  Dixie  is  my  home. 

Jack  o'  diamonds,  Jack  o'  diamonds, 

I  know  you  of  old, 

You've  robbed  my  poor  pockets 

Of  silver  and  gold. 

Rye  whiskey,  rye  whiskey, 

Rye  whiskey  I  cry, 

If  you  don't  give  me  rye  whiskey 

I'll  lie  down  and  die. 

O  Baby,  O  Baby,  I've  told  you  before, 
Do  make  me  a  pallet,  I'll  lie  on  the  floor. 


294 


Jack  o'  Diamonds 


I 


^=^ 

0    Mol-lie,    0    Mol-lie,   It'a  for  your  sake    a -lone 


fcpE= 


r-«-a 


:i 


m 


£ 


F 


af-'*^^ 


That    I  leave   my     old     pa -rents,  my  house  and    my  home; 


J: 


I 


^E3 


a 


^— ^ 


-J  4  JIJ  '- 


That    I  leave    my    old      pa  -  rents,  you  caused  me     to    roam — 


a 


i 


Jack  o'  Diamonds— Concluded 


£ 


I      am     a     rab-ble  sol-  dier,  and  Dix-ie     is    my  home. 


]i\*ii  |xErJ 


1 


*=* 


1 


Repeat  from  first  for  Refrain 


THE   COWBOY'S    MEDITATION 

AT  midnight  when  the  cattle  are  sleeping 
On  my  saddle  I  pillow  my  head, 
And  up  at  the  heavens  lie  peeping 
From  out  of  my  cold,  grassy  bed, — 
Often  and  often  I  wondered 
At  night  when  lying  alone 
If  every  bright  star  up  yonder 
Is  a  big  peopled  world  like  our  own. 

Are  they  worlds  with  their  ranges  and  ranches  ? 
Do  they  ring  with  rough  rider  refrains? 
Do  the  cowboys  scrap  there  with  Comanches 
And  other  Red  Men  of  the  plains? 
Are  the  hills  covered  over  with  cattle 
In  those  mystic  worlds  far,  far  away? 
Do  the  ranch-houses  ring  with  the  prattle 
Of  sweet  little  children  at  play? 

At  night  in  the  bright  stars  up  yonder 
Do  the  cowboys  lie  down  to  their  rest? 
Do  they  gaze  at  this  old  world  and  wonder 
If  rough  riders  dash  over  its  breast? 
Do  they  list  to  the  wolves  in  the  canyons? 
Do  they  watch  the  night  owl  in  its  flight, 
With  their  horse  their  only  companion 
While  guarding  the  herd  through  the  night? 

297 


The  Cowboy's  Meditation 

Sometimes  when  a  bright  star  is  twinkling 

Like  a  diamond  set  in  the  sky, 

I  find  myself  lying  and  thinking, 

It  may  be  God's  heaven  is  nigh. 

I  wonder  if  there  I  shall  meet  her, 

My  mother  whom  God  took  away; 

If  in  the  star-heavens  I'll  greet  her 

At  the  round-up  that's  on  the  last  day. 

In  the  east  the  great  daylight  is  breaking 
And  into  my  saddle  I  spring; 
The  cattle  from  sleep  are  awakening, 
The  heaven-thoughts  from  me  take  wing, 
The  eyes  of  my  bronco  are  flashing, 
Impatient  he  pulls  at  the  reins, 
And  off  round  the  herd  I  go  dashing, 
A  reckless  cowboy  of  the  plains. 


298 


-tU. 


BILLY  VENERO 

BILLY  VENERO  heard  them  say, 
In  an  Arizona  town  one  day, 
That  a  band  of  Apache  Indians  were  upon  the  trail 

of  death; 

Heard  them  tell  of  murder  done, 
Three  men  killed  at  Rocky  Run, 
"  They're  in  danger  at  the  cow-ranch,"  said  Venero, 
under  breath. 

Cow-Ranch,  forty  miles  away, 
Was  a  little  place  that  lay 

In  a  deep  and  shady  valley  of  the  mighty  wilderness ; 
Half  a  score  of  homes  were  there, 
And  in  one  a  maiden  fair 

Held  the  heart  of  Billy  Venero,  Billy  Venero's  little 
Bess. 

So  no  wonder  he  grew  pale 

When  he  heard  the  cowboy's  tale 

Of  the  men  that  he'd  seen  murdered  the  day  before 

at  Rocky  Run. 

"  Sure  as  there's  a  God  above, 
I  will  save  the  girl  I  love; 
By  my  love  for  little  Bessie  I  will  see  that  something's 

done." 


299 


Billy  Fenero 

Not  a  moment  he  delayed 

When  his  brave  resolve  was  made. 

"  Why  man,"  his  comrades  told  him  when  they  heard 

of  his  daring  plan, 
"  You  are  riding  straight  to  death." 
But  he  answered,  "  Save  your  breath; 
I  may  never  reach  the  cow-ranch  but  I'll  do  the  best 

I  can." 

As  he  crossed  the  alkali 

All  his  thoughts  flew  on  ahead 

To  the  little  band  at  cow-ranch  thinking  not  of 

danger  near; 

With  his  quirt's  unceasing  whirl 
And  the  jingle  of  his  spurs 
Little  brown  Chapo  bore  the  cowboy  o'er  the  far 

away  frontier. 

Lower  and  lower  sank  the  sun ; 

He  drew  rein  at  Rocky  Run; 

"  Here  those  men  met  death,  my  Chapo,"  and  he 

stroked  his  glossy  mane; 
"  So  shall  those  we  go  to  warn 
Ere  the  coming  of  the  morn 
If  we  fail, —  God  help  my  Bessie,"  and  he  started 

on  again. 

Sharp  and  clear  a  rifle  shot 
Woke  the  echoes  of  the  spot. 


300 


Billy  Venero 

"  I  am  wounded,"  cried  Venero,  as  he  swayed  from 

side  to  side; 

"  While  there's  life  there's  always  hope; 
Slowly  onward  I  will  lope, — 
If  I  fail  to  reach  the  cow-ranch,  Bessie  Lee  shall  know 

I  tried. 

"  I  will  save  her  yet,"  he  cried, 

"  Bessie  Lee  shall  know  I  tried," 

And  for  her  sake  then  he  halted  in  the  shadow  of  a 

hill; 

From  his  chapareras  he  took 
With  weak  hands  a  little  book; 
Tore  a  blank  leaf  from  its  pages  saying,  "  This  shall 

be  my  will." 

From  a  limb  a  pen  he  broke, 

And  he  dipped  his  pen  of  oak 

In  the  warm  blood  that  was  spurting  from  a  wound 

above  his  heart. 

"  Rouse,"  he  wrote  before  too  late; 
"  Apache  warriors  lie  in  wait. 
Good-bye,  Bess,  God  bless  you  darling,"  and  he  felt 

the  cold  tears  start. 

Then  he  made  his  message  fast, 
Love's  first  message  and  its  last, 
To  the  saddle  horn  he  tied  it  and  his  lips  were  white 

with  pain, 

"  Take  this  message,  if  not  me, 

301 


Billy  Fenero 

Straight  to  little  Bessie  Lee;  " 
Then  he  tied  himself  to  the  saddle,  and  he  gave  his 
horse  the  rein. 

Just  at  dusk  a  horse  of  brown 

Wet  with  sweat  came  panting  down 

The  little  lane  at  the  cow-ranch,  stopped  in  front  of 

Bessie's  door; 
But  the  cowboy  was  asleep, 
And  his  slumbers  were  so  deep, 
Little  Bess  could  never  wake  him  though  she  tried 

for  evermore. 

You  have  heard  the  story  told 

By  the  young  and  by  the  old, 

Away  down  yonder  at  the  cow-ranch  the  night  the 

Apaches  came; 

Of  that  sharp  and  bloody  fight, 
How  the  chief  fell  in  the  fight 
And  the  panic-stricken  warriors  when  they  heard 

Venero's  name. 

And  the  heavens  and  earth  between 
Keep  a  little  flower  so  green 

That  little  Bess  had  planted  ere  they  laid  her  by  his 
side. 


302 


DOGIE  SONG 

THE  cow-bosses  are  good-hearted  chunks, 
Some  short,  some  heavy,  more  long; 
But  don't  matter  what  he  looks  like, 
They  all  sing  the  same  old  song. 
On  the  plains,  in  the  mountains,  in  the  valleys, 
In  the  south  where  the  days  are  long, 
The  bosses  are  different  fellows; 
Still  they  sing  the  same  old  song. 

"  Sift  along,  boys,  don't  ride  so  slow ; 
Haven't  got  much  time  but  a  long  round  to  go. 
Quirt  him  in  the  shoulders  and  rake  him  down  the 

hip; 
IVe  cut  you  toppy  mounts,  boys,  now  pair  off  and 

rip. 

Bunch  the  herd  at  the  old  meet, 
Then  beat  'em  on  the  tail; 
Whip  'em  up  and  down  the  sides 
And  hit  the  shortest  trail." 


303 


THE  BOOZER 

I'M  a  howler  from  the  prairies  of  the  West. 
If  you  want  to  die  with  terror,  look  at  me. 
I'm  chain-lightning  —  if  I  ain't,  may  I  be  blessed. 
I'm  the  snorter  of  the  boundless  prairie. 

He's  a  killer  and  a  hater! 

He's  the  great  annihilator! 

He's  a  terror  of  the  boundless  prairie. 

I'm  the  snoozer  from  the  upper  trail ! 
I'm  the  reveler  in  murder  and  in  gore! 
I  can  bust  more  Pullman  coaches  on  the  rail 
Than  anyone  who's  worked  the  job  before. 

He's  a  snorter  and  a  snoozer. 

He's  the  great  trunk  line  abuser. 

He's  the  man  who  puts  the  sleeper  on  the  rail. 

I'm  the  double-jawed  hyena  from  the  East. 
I'm  the  blazing,  bloody  blizzard  of  the  States. 
I'm  the  celebrated  slugger;  I'm  the  Beast. 
I  can  snatch  a  man  bald-headed  while  he  waits. 

He's  a  double-jawed  hyena ! 
He's  the  villain  of  the  scena ! 
He  can  snatch  a  man  bald-headed  while  he  waits. 
304 


DRINKING  SONG 

DRINK  that  rot  gut,  drink  that  rot  gut, 
Drink  that  red  eye,  boys; 
It  don't  make  a  damn  wherever  we  land, 
We  hit  her  up  for  joy. 

We've  lived  in  the  saddle  and  ridden  trail, 

Drink  old  Jordan,  boys, 

We'll   go   whooping   and   yelling,   we'll   all   go    a- 

helling; 
Drink  her  to  our  joy. 

Whoop-ee!  drink  that  rot  gut,  drink  that  red  nose, 

Whenever  you  get  to  town ; 

Drink  it  straight  and  swig  it  mighty, 

Till  the  world  goes  round  and  round ! 


305 


A  FRAGMENT 

I'D  rather  hear  a  rattler  rattle, 
I'd  rather  buck  stampeding  cattle, 
I'd  rather  go  to  a  greaser  battle, 
Than  — 
Than  to  — 
Than  to  fight  — 
Than  to  fight  the  bloody  In-ji-ans. 

I'd  rather  eat  a  pan  of  dope, 

I'd  rather  ride  without  a  rope, 

I'd  rather  from  this  country  lope, 

Than  — 

Than  to  — 

Than  to  fight  — 

Than  to  fight  the  bloody  In-ji-ans. 


306 


A  MAN  NAMED  HODS 

COME,  all  you  old  cowpunchers,  a  story  I  will 
tell, 

And  if  you'll  all  be  quiet,  I  sure  will  sing  it  well; 
And  if  you  boys  don't  like  it,  you  sure  can  go  to  hell. 

Back  in  the  day  when  I  was  young,  I  knew  a  man. 

named  Hods; 
He  wasn't  fit  fer  nothin'  'cep  turnin'  up  the  clods. 

But  he  came  west  in  fifty-three,  behind  a  pair  of 

mules, 
And  'twas  hard  to  tell  between  the  three  which  was 

the  biggest  fools. 

Up  on  the  plains  old  Hods  he  got  and  there  his 

trouble  began. 
Oh,  he  sure  did  get  in  trouble, —  and  old  Hodsie 

wasn't  no  man. 

He  met  a  bunch  of  Indian  bucks  led  by  Geronimo, 
And  what  them  Indians  did  to  him,  well,  shorely  I 
don't  know. 

But  they  lifted  off  old  Hodsie's  skelp  and  left  him 

out  to  die, 
And  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  he'd  been  in  the  sweet 

by  and  by. 

307 


A  Man  Named  Hods 

But  I  packed  him  back  to  Santa  Fe  and  there  I  found 
his  mules, 

For  them  dad-blamed  two  critters  had  got  the  In- 
dians fooled. 

I  don't  know  how  they  done  it,  but  they  shore  did 

get  away, 
And  them  two  mules  is  livin'  up  to  this  very  day. 

Old  Hodsie's  feet  got  toughened  up,  he  got  to  be 

a  sport, 
He  opened  up  a  gamblin'  house  and  a  place  of  low 

resort ; 

He  got  the  prettiest  dancing  girls  that  ever  could  be 

found, — 
Them   girls'   feet  was  like   rubber  balls  and  they 

never  staid  on  the  ground. 

And  then  thar  came  Billy  the  Kid,  he  envied  Hodsie's 
wealth, 

He  told  old  Hods  to  leave  the  town,  'twould  be  bet- 
ter for  his  health; 

Old  Hodsie  took  the  hint  and  got,  but  he  carried  all 
his  wealth. 

And  he  went  back  to  Noo  York  State  with  lots  of 

dinero, 
And  now  they  say  he's  senator,  but  of  that  I  shore 

don't  know. 

308 


A  FRAGMENT 

I  AM  fur  from  my  sweetheart 
And  she  is  fur  from  me, 
And  when  I'll  see  my  sweetheart 
I  can't  tell  when  'twill  be. 

But  I  love  her  just  the  same, 

No  matter  where  I  roam; 

And  that  there  girl  will  wait  fur  me 

Whenever  I  come  home. 

I've  roamed  the  Texas  prairies, 
I've  followed  the  cattle  trail, 
I've  rid  a  pitching  pony 
Till  the  hair  came  off  his  tail. 

I've  been  to  cowboy  dances, 

I've  kissed  the  Texas  girls, 

But  they  ain't  none  what  can  compare 

With  my  own  sweetheart's  curls. 


309 


THE  LONE  STAR  TRAIL 

I'M  a  rowdy  cowboy  just  off  the  stormy  plains, 
My  trade  is  girting  saddles  and  pulling  bridle 

reins. 

Oh,  I  can  tip  the  lasso,  it  is  with  graceful  ease ; 
I  rope  a  streak  of  lightning,  and  ride  it  where  I 

please. 
My  bosses  they  all  like  me,  they  say  I  am  hard  to 

beat; 
I  give  them  the  bold  standoff,  you  bet  I  have  got  the 

cheek. 

I  always  work  for  wages,  my  pay  I  get  in  gold; 
I  am  bound  to  follow  the  longhorn  steer  until  I  am 
too  old. 

Ci  yi  yip  yip  yip  pe  ya. 

I  am  a  Texas  cowboy  and  I  do  ride  the  range ; 

My  trade  is  cinches  and  saddles  and  ropes  and  bridle 

reins ; 
With  Stetson  hat  and  jingling  spurs  and  leather  up  to 

the  knees, 
Gray  backs  as  big  as  chili  beans  and  fighting  like  hell 

with  fleas. 

And  if  I  had  a  little  stake,  I  soon  would  married  be, 
But  another  week  and  I  must  go,  the  boss  said  so 

to-day. 

310 


The  Lone  Star  Trail 

My  girl  must  cheer  up  courage  and  choose  some  other 

one, 
For  I  am  bound  to  follow  the  Lone  Star  Trail  until 

my  race  is  run. 

Ci  yi  yip  yip  yip  pe  ya. 

It  almost  breaks  my  heart  for  to  have  to  go  away, 
And  leave  my  own  little  darling,  my  sweetheart  so 

far  away. 
But  when  I'm  out  on  the  Lone  Star  Trail  often  I'll 

think  of  thee, 
Of  my  own  dear  girl,  the  darling  one,  the  one  I 

would  like  to  see. 
And  when  I  get  to  a  shipping  point,  I'll  get  on  a  little 

spree 
To  drive  away  the  sorrow  for  the  girl  that  once  loved 

me. 
And  though  red  licker  stirs  us  up  we're  bound  to 

have  our  fun, 
And  I  intend  to  follow  the  Lone  Star  Trail  until  my 

race  is  run. 

Ci  yi  yip  yip  yip  pe  ya. 

I  went  up  the  Lone  Star  Trail  in  eighteen  eighty- 
three  ; 

I  fell  in  love  with  a  pretty  miss  and  she  in  love  with 
me. 

"  When  you  get  to  Kansas  write  and1  let  me  know; 

311 


The  Lone  Star  Trail 

And  if  you  get  in  trouble,  your  bail  I'll  come  and  go." 
When  I  got  up  in  Kansas,  I  had  a  pleasant  dream ; 
I  dreamed  I  was  down  on  Trinity,  down  on  that 

pleasant  stream; 
I  dreampt  my  true  love  right  beside  me,  she  come  to 

go  my  bail; 
I  woke  up  broken  hearted  with  a  yearling  by  the 

tail. 

Ci  yi  yip  yip  yip  pe  ya. 

In  came  my  jailer  about  nine  o'clock, 

A  bunch  of  keys  was  in  his  hand,  my  cell  door  to 

unlock, 
Saying,  "  Cheer  up,  my  prisoner,  I  heard  some  voice 

say 
You're   bound   to   hear   your   sentence    some    time 

to-day." 

In  came  my  mother  about  ten  o'clock, 
Saying,  "  O  my  loving  Johnny,  what  sentence  have 

you  got?  " 
"  The  jury  found  me  guilty  and  the  judge  a-standin' 

by 
Has  sent  me  down  to  Huntsville  to  lock  me  up  and 

die." 

Ci  yi  yip  yip  yip  pe  ya. 

Down  come  the  jailer,  just  about  eleven  o'clock, 
With  a  bunch  of  keys  all  in  his  hand  the  cell  doors 
to  unlock, 

312 


The  Lone  Star  Trail 

Saying,  "  Cheer  up,  my  prisoner,  I  heard  the  jury 

say 
Just  ten  long  years  in  Huntsville  you're  bound  to  go 

and  stay." 

Down  come  my  sweetheart,  ten  dollars  in  her  hand, 
Saying,   "  Give  this  to  my  cowboy,  'tis  all  that  I 

command; 

O  give  this  to  my  cowboy  and  think  of  olden  times, 
Think  of  the  darling  that  he  has  left  behind." 

Ci  yi  yip  yip  yip  pe  ya. 


WAY  DOWN  IN  MEXICO 

OBOYS,  we're  goin'  far  to-night, 
Yeo-ho,  yeo-ho! 

We'll  take  the  greasers  now  in  hand 
And  drive  'em  in  the  Rio  Grande, 
Way  down  in  Mexico. 

We'll  hang  old  Santa  Anna  soon, 

Yeo-ho,  yeo-ho ! 

And  all  the  greaser  soldiers,  too, 

To  the  chime  of  Yankee  Doodle  Doo, 

Way  down  in  Mexico. 

We'll  scatter  'em  like  flocks  of  sheep, 
Yeo-ho,  yeo-ho! 

We'll  mow  'em  down  with  rifle  ball 
And  plant  our  flag  right  on  their  wall, 
Way  down  in  Mexico. 

Old  Rough  and  Ready,  he's  a  trump, 
Yeo-ho,  yeo-ho! 

He'll  wipe  old  Santa  Anna  out 
And  put  the  greasers  all  to  rout, 
Way  down  in  Mexico. 

Then  we'll  march  back  by  and  by, 
Yeo-ho,  yeo-ho! 

And  kiss  the  gals  we  left  to  home 
And  never  more  we'll  go  and  roam, 
Way  down  in  Mexico. 


RATTLESNAKE  —  A  RANCH  HAYING 
SONG 

A  NICE  young  ma-wa-wan 
Lived  on  a  hi-wi-will; 
A  nice  young  ma-wa-wan, 
For  I  knew  him  we-we-well. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 

This  nice  young  ma-wa-wan 
Went  out  to  mo-wo-wow 
To  see  if  he-we-we 
Could  make  a  sho-wo^wow. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 

He  scarcely  mo-wo-wowed 

Half  round  the  fie-we-wield 

Till  up  jumped  —  come  a  rattle,  come  a  sna-wa-wake, 

And  bit  him  on  the  he-we-weel. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 

He  laid  right  dow-wo-wown 
Upon  the  gro-wcKwound 
And  shut  his  ey-wy-wyes 
And  looked  all  aro-wo-wound. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 


Rattlesnake  —  A  Ranch  Haying  Song 

"  O  pappy  da-wa-wad, 
Go  tell  my  ga-wa-wal 
That  I'm  a-goin'  ter  di-wi-wie, 
For  I  know  I  sha-wa-wall. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 

"  O  pappy  da-wa-wad, 
Go  spread  the  ne-wu-wus; 
And  here  come  Sa-wa-wall 
Without  her  sho-woo-woos." 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 

"  O  John,  O  Joh-wa-wahn, 
Why  did  you  go-wo-wo 
Way  down  in  the  mea-we-we-dow 
So  far  to  mo-wo-wow  ?  " 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree  I 

"  O  Sal,  O  Sa-wa-wall, 
Why  don't  you  kno-wo-wow 
When  the  grass  gits  ri-wi-wipe, 
It  must  be  mo-wo-woed?  " 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 

Come  all  young  gir-wi-wirls 
And  shed  a  tea-we-wear 

3i6 


Rattlesnake  —  A  Ranch  Haying  Song 

For  this  young  ma-wa-wan 
That  died  right  he-we-were. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 

Come  all  young  me-we-wen 
And  warning  ta-wa-wake, 
And  don't  get  bi-wi-wit 
By  a  rattle  sna-wa-wake. 

To  my  rattle,  to  my  roo-rah-ree ! 


THE  RAILROAD  CORRAU 

OH  we're  up  in  the  morning  ere  breaking  of  day, 
The  chuck  wagon's  busy,  the  flapjacks  in  play; 
The  herd  is  astir  o'er  hillside  and  vale, 
With  the  night  riders  rounding  them  into  the  trail. 
Oh,  come  take  up  your  cinches,  come  shake  out 

your  reins ; 
Come  wake  your  old  broncho  and  break  for  the 

plains; 
Come  roust  out  your  steers  from  the  long  chapar- 

ral, 
For  the  outfit  is  off  to  the  railroad  corral. 

The  sun  circles  upward;  the  steers  as  they  plod 
Are  pounding  to  powder  the  hot  prairie  sod; 
And  it  seems  as  the  dust  makes  you  dizzy  and  sick 
That  we'll  never  reach  noon  and  the  cool,  shady 
creek. 

But  tie  up  your  kerchief  and  ply  up  your  nag; 

Come  dry  up  your  grumbles  and  try  not  to  lag; 

Come  with  your  steers  from  the  long  chaparral. 

For  we're  far  on  the  road  to  the  railroad  corral. 

The  afternoon  shadows  are  starting  to  lean, 
When  the  chuck  wagon  sticks  in  the  marshy  ravine; 
The  herd  scatters  farther  than  vision  can  look, 


The  Railroad  Corral 

For  you  can  bet  all  true  punchers  will  help  out  the 

cook. 
Come  shake  out  your  rawhide  and  snake  it  up 

fair; 

Come  break  your  old  broncho  to  take  in  his  share; 
Come  from  your  steers  in  the  long  chaparral, 
For  'tis  all  in  the  drive  to  the  railroad  corral. 

But  the  longest  of  days  must  reach  evening  at  last, 

The  hills  all  climbed,  the  creeks  all  past; 

The  tired  herd  droops  in  the  yellowing  light; 

Let  them  loaf  if  they  will,  for  the  railroad's  in  sight. 
So  flap  up  your  holster  and  snap  up  your  belt, 
And  strap  up  your  saddle  whose  lap  you  have  felt; 
Good-bye  to  the  steers  from  the  long  chaparral, 
For  there's  a  town  that's  a  trunk  by  the  railroad 
corral. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  "  METIS "  TRAPPER 

BY   ROLETTE 

HURRAH  for  the  great  white  way ! 
Hurrah  for  the  dog  and  sledge ! 
As  we  snow-shoe  along, 
We  give  them  a  song, 
With  a  snap  of  the  whip   and  an  urgent   "  mush 


on"- 


Hurrah  for  the  great  white  way !     Hurrah ! 

Hurrah  for  the  snow  and  the  ice! 

As  we  follow  the  trail, 
We  call  to  the  dogs  with  whistle  and  song, 

And  reply  to  their  talk 
With  only  "  mush  on,  mush  on  " ! 

Hurrah  for  the  snow  and  the  ice!     Hurrah! 

Hurrah  for  the  gun  and  the  trap, — 

As  we  follow  the  lines 
By  the  rays  of  the  mystic  light 

That  flames  in  the  north  with  banners  so  bright, 
As  we  list  to  its  swish,  swish,  swish,  through  the  air 

all  night, 

Hurrah  for  the  gun  and  the  trap  !  Hurrah !   Hur- 
rah !    Hurrah ! 


320 


The  Song  of  the  "  Metis  "   Trapper 

Hurrah  for  the  fire  and  cold! 

As  we  lie  in  the  robes  all  night. 
And  list  to  the  howl  of  the  wolf; 

For  we  emptied  the  pot  of  the  tea  so  hot, 
And  a  king  on  his  throne  might  envy  our  lot, — 

Hurrah  for  the  fire  and  cold!     Hurrah! 

Hurrah  for  our  black-haired  girls, 

Who  brave  the  storms  of  the  mountain  heights 
And  follow  us  on  the  great  white  way; 

For  their  eyes  so  bright  light  the  way  all  right 
And  guide  us  to  shelter  and  warmth  each  night. 

Hurrah    for    our   black-haired    girls!     Hurrah! 
Hurrah !    Hurrah ! 


321 


THE  CAMP  FIRE  HAS  GONE  OUT 


rirVHROUGH  progress  of  the  railroads  our  occu- 

JL        pation's  gone  ; 
So  we  will  put  ideas  into  words,  our  words  into  a 

song. 

First  comes  the  cowboy,  he  is  pointed  for  the  west; 
Of  all  the  pioneers  I  claim  the  cowboys  are  the  best; 
You  will  miss  him  on  the  round-up,  it's  gone,  his 

merry  shout,  — 
The  cowboy  has  left  the  country  and  the  campfire 

has  gone  out. 

There  is  the  freighters,  our  companions,  you've  got 

to  leave  this  land, 
Can't    drag   your   loads    for   nothing   through    the 

gumbo  and  the  sand. 
The  railroads  are  bound  to  beat  you  when  you  do 

your  level  best; 
So  give  it  up  to  the  grangers  and  strike  out  for  the 

west. 

Bid  them  all  adieu  and  give  the  merry  shout,  — 
The  cowboy  has  left  the  country  and  the  campfire  has 

gone  out. 

When  I  think  of  those  good  old  days,  my  eyes  with 
tears  do  fill; 


322 


The  Camp  Fire  Has  Gone  Out 

When  I  think  of  the  tin  can  by  the  fire  and  the 

cayote  on  the  hill. 
I'll  tell  you,  boys,  in  those  days  old-timers  stood  a 

show, — 
Our  pockets  full  of  money,  not  a  sorrow  did  we 

know. 
But  things  have  changed  now,  we  are  poorly  clothed 

and  fed. 
Our  wagons  are  all  broken  and  our  ponies  most  all 

dead. 
Soon  we  will  leave  this  country,  you'll  hear  the  angels 

shout, 
"  Oh,  here  they  come  to  Heaven,  the  campfire  has 

gone  out." 


323 


NIGHT-HERDING  SONG 

BY    HARRY   STEPHENS 

OH,  slow  up,  dogies,  quit  your  roving  round, 
You  have  wandered  and  tramped  all  over  the 

ground ; 

Oh,  graze  along,  dogies,  and  feed  kinda  slow, 
And  don't  forever  be  on  the  go, — 
Oh,  move  slow,  dogies,  move  slow. 

Hi-oo,  hi-oo,  oo-oo. 

I  have  circle-herded,  trail-herded,  night-herded,  and 

cross-herded,  too, 

But  to  keep  you  together,  that's  what  I  can't  do ; 
My  horse  is  leg  weary  and  I'm  awful  tired, 
But  if  I  let  you  get  away  I'm  sure  to  get  fired, — 
Bunch  up,  little  dogies,  bunch  up, 

Hi-oo,  hi-oo,  oo-oo. 

O  say,  little  dogies,  when  you  goin'  to  lay  down 

And  quit  this  forever  siftin'  around? 

My  limbs  are  weary,  my  seat  is  sore; 

Oh,  lay  down,  dogies,  like  you've  laid  before, — 

Lay  down,  little  dogies,  lay  down. 

Hi-oo,  hi-oo,  oo-oo. 

324 


Night-Herding  Song 

Oh,  lay  still,  dogies,  since  you  have  laid  down, 
Stretch  away  out  on  the  big  open  ground ; 
Snore  loud,  little  dogies,  and  drown  the  wild  sound 
That  will  all  go  away  when  the  day  rolls  round, — 
Lay  still,  little  dogies,  lay  still. 

Hi-oo,  hi-oo,  oo-oo. 


325 


TAIL  PIECE 

Oh,  the  cow-puncher  loves  the  whistle  of  his  rope, 

As  he  races  over  the  plains; 

And  the  stage-driver  loves  the  popper  of  his  whip, 

And  the  rattle  of  his  concord  chains; 

And  we'll  all  pray  the  Lord  that  we  will  be  saved, 

And  we'll  keep  the  golden  rule; 

But  I'd  rather  be  home  with  the  girl  I  love 

Than  to  monkey  with  this  goddamn' d  mule. 


326 


THE  HABIT* 

I'VE  beat  my  way  wherever  any  winds  have  blown, 
I've  bummed  along  from  Portland  down  to  San 
Antone, 

From  Sandy  Hook  to  Frisco,  over  gulch  and  hill ; 
For  once  you  git  the  habit,  why,  you  can't  keep  still. 

I  settles  down  quite  frequent  and  I  says,  says  I, 
"  I'll  never  wander  further  till  I  comes  to  die." 
But  the  wind  it  sorta  chuckles,  "  Why,  o'  course  you 

will," 
And  shure  enough  I  does  it,  cause  I  can't  keep  still. 

I've  seed  a  lot  o'  places  where  I'd  like  to  stay, 
But  I  gets  a  feelin'  restless  and  I'm  on  my  way. 
I  was  never  meant  for  settin'  on  my  own  door  sill, 
And  once  you  git  the  habit,  why,  you  can't  keep  still. 

I've  been  in  rich  men's  houses  and  I've  been  in  jail, 
But  when  it's  time  for  leavin',  I  jes  hits  the  trail; 
I'm  a  human  bird  of  passage,  and  the  song  I  trill, 
Is,  "  Once  you  git  the  habit,  why,  you  can't  keep 
still."  ' 

*A  song  current  in  Arizona,  probably  written  by  Berton  Braley. 
Cowboys  and  miners  often  take  verses  that  please  them  and  fit 
them  to  music. 

327 


The  Habit 

The  sun  is  sorta  coaxin*  and  the  road  is  clear 
And  the  wind  is  singin'  ballads  that  I  got  to  hear. 
It  ain't  no  use  to  argue  when  you  feel  the  thrill ; 
For  once  you  git  the  habit,  why,  you  can't  keep  still. 


328 


OLD  PAINT  * 

REFRAIN: 
Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne, 
Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne, — 

My  foot  in  the  stirrup,  my  pony  won't  stand; 
Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne. 

I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne,  I'm  off  for  Montan'; 
Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne. 

I'm  a  ridin'  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leadin'  old  Fan; 
Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne. 

IWith  my  feet  in  the  stirrups,  my  bridle  in  my  hand; 
Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne. 

Old  Paint's  a  good  pony,  he  paces  when  he  can; 
Goodbye,  little  Annie,  I'm  off  for  Cheyenne. 

Oh,  hitch  up  your  horses  and  feed  'em  some  hay, 
And  seat  yourself  by  me  so  long  as  you  stay. 

*  These  verses  are  used  in  many  parts  of  the  West  as  a  dance 
song.  Sung  to  waltz  music  the  song  takes  the  place  of  "Home, 
Sweet  Home"  at  the  conclusion  of  a  cowboy  ball.  The  "fiddle" 
is  silenced  and  the  entire  company  sing  as  they  dance. 

329 


Old  Paint 

My  Horses  ain't  hungry,  they'll  not  eat  your  hay; 
My  wagon  is  loaded  and  rolling  away. 

My  foot  in  my  stirrup,  my  reins  in  my  hand; 
Good-morning,  young  lady,  my  horses  won't  stand. 

Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne. 
Goodbye,  Old  Paint,  I'm  a-leavin'  Cheyenne. 


330 


DOWN  SOUTH  ON  THE  RIO  GRANDE 

FROM  way  down  south  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
Roll  on  steers  for  the  Post  Oak  Sand, — 
Way  down  south  in  Dixie,  Oh,  boys,  Ho. 

You'd  laugh  fur  to  see  that  fellow  a-straddle 
Of  a  mustang  mare  on  a  raw-hide  saddle, — 
Way  down  south  in  Dixie,  Oh,  boys,  Ho. 

Rich  as  a  king,  and  he  wouldn't  be  bigger 
Fur  a  pitchin'  hoss  and  a  lame  old  nigger, — 
Way  down  south  in  Dixie,  Oh,  boys,  Ho. 

Ole  Abe  kep'  gettin'  bigger  an'  bigger, 

'Til  he  bust  hisself  'bout  a  lame  old  nigger, — 

Way  down  south  in  Dixie,  Oh,  boys,  Ho. 

Old  Jeff  swears  he'll  sew  him  together 
With  powder  and  shot  instead  of  leather, — 
Way  down  south  in  Dixie,  Oh,  boys,  Ho. 

Kin  cuss  an'  fight  an'  hold  or  free  'em, 

But  I  know  them  mavericks  when  I  see  'em, — 

Way  down  south  in  Dixie,  Oh,  boys,  Ho. 


33i 


tf 


SILVER  JACK  * 

1WAS  on  the  drive  in  eighty 
Working  under  Silver  Jack, 
Which  the  same  is  now  in  Jackson 
And  ain't  soon  expected  back, 
And  there  was  a  fellow  'mongst  us 
By  the  name  of  Robert  Waite; 
Kind  of  cute  and  smart  and  tonguey 
Guess  he  was  a  graduate. 

He  could  talk  on  any  subject 
From  the  Bible  down  to  Hoyle, 
And  his  words  flowed  out  so  easy, 
Just  as  smooth  and  slick  as  oil, 
He  was  what  they  call  a  skeptic, 
And  he  loved  to  sit  and  weave 
Hifalutin'  words  together 
Tellin'  what  he  didn't  believe. 

One  day  we  all  were  sittin'  round 
Smokin'  nigger  head  tobacco 
And  hearing  Bob  expound; 
Hell,  he  said,  was  all  a  humbug, 
And  he  made  it  plain  as  day 
That  the  Bible  was  a  fable; 

*A  lumber  jack  song  adopted  by  the  cowboys. 

332 


Silver  Jack 

And  we  lowed  it  looked  that  way. 
Miracles  and  such  like 
Were  too  rank  for  him  to  stand, 
And  as  for  him  they  called  the  Savior 
He  was  just  a  common  man. 

"  You're  a  liar,"  someone  shouted, 
"  And  you've  got  to  take  it  back." 
Then  everybody  started, — 
'Twas  the  words  of  Silver  Jack. 
And  he  cracked  his  fists  together 
And  he  stacked  his  duds  and  cried, 
"  'Twas  in  that  thar  religion 
That  my  mother  lived  and  died; 
And  though  I  haven't  always 
Used  the  Lord  exactly  right, 
Yet  when  I  hear  a  chump  abuse  him 
He's  got  to  eat  his  words  or  fight." 

Now,  this  Bob  he  weren't  no  coward 
And  he  answered  bold  and  free : 
"  Stack  your  duds  and  cut  your  capers, 
For  there  ain't  no  flies  on  me." 
And  they  fit  for  forty  minutes 
And  the  crowd  would  whoop  and  cheer 
When  Jack  spit  up  a  tooth  or  two, 
Or  when  Bobby  lost  an  ear. 

But  at  last  Jack  got  him  under 
And  he  slugged  him  onct  or  twict, 
333 


Silver  Jack 

And  straightway  Bob  admitted 
The  divinity  of  Christ. 
But  Jack  kept  reasoning  with  him 
Till  the  poor  cuss  gave  a  yell 
And  lowed  he'd  been  mistaken 
In  his  views  concerning  hell. 

Then  the  fierce  encounter  ended 
And  they  riz  up  from  the  ground 
And  someone  brought  a  bottle  out 
And  kindly  passed  it  round. 
And  we  drank  to  Bob's  religion 
In  a  cheerful  sort  o'  way, 
But  the  spread  of  infidelity 
Was  checked  in  camp  that  day. 


334 


THE  COWBOY'S  CHRISTMAS  BALL  * 

WAY  out  in  Western  Texas,  where  the  Clear 
Fork's  waters  flow, 

Where  the  cattle  are  a-browzin'  and  the  Spanish 
ponies  grow; 

Where  the  Northers  come  a-whistlin'  from  beyond 
the  Neutral  Strip; 

And  the  prairie  dogs  are  sneezin',  as  though  they 
had  the  grip; 

Where  the  coyotes  come  a-howlin'  round  the  ranches 
after  dark, 

And  the  mockin'  birds  are  singin'  to  the  lovely  med- 
der lark; 

Where  the  'possum  and  the  badger  and  the  rattle- 
snakes abound, 

And  the  monstrous  stars  are  winkin'  o'er  a  wilder- 
ness profound; 

Where  lonesome,  tawny  prairies  melt  into  airy 
streams, 

*This  poem,  one  of  the  best  in  Larry  Chittenden's  Ranch 
Verses,  published  by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York,  has  been  set 
to  music  by  the  cowboys  and  its  phraseology  slightly  changed,  as 
this  copy  will  show,  by  oral  transmission.  I  have  heard  it  in 
New  Mexico  and  it  has  been  sent  to  me  from  various  places, — 
always  as  a  song.  None  of  those  who  sent  in  the  song  knew 
that  it  was  already  in  print. 

335 


\The  Cowboy's  Christmas  Ball 

While  the  Double  Mountains  slumber  in  heavenly 
kinds  of  dreams; 

Where  the  antelope  is  grazin'  and  the  lonely  plov- 
ers call, — 

It  was  there  I  attended  the  Cowboy's  Christmas 
Ball. 

The  town  was  Anson  City,  old  Jones'  county  seat, 

Where  they  raised  Polled  Angus  cattle  and  waving 
whiskered  wheat; 

Where  the  air  is  soft  and  bammy  and  dry  and  full 
of  health, 

Where  the  prairies  is  explodin'  with  agricultural 
wealth ; 

Where  they  print  the  Texas  Western,  that  Hec 
McCann  supplies 

With  news  and  yarns  and  stories,  of  most  amazing 
size; 

Where  Frank  Smith  "  pulls  the  badger  "  on  know- 
ing tenderfeet, 

And  Democracy's  triumphant  and  mighty  hard  to 
beat; 

Where  lives  that  good  old  hunter,  John  Milsap, 
from  Lamar, 

Who  used  to  be  the  sheriff  "  back  east  in  Paris, 
sah  " ! 

'Twas  there,  I  say,  at  Anson  with  the  lovely  Widder 
Wall, 

That  I  went  to  that  reception,  the  Cowboy's  Christ- 
mas Ball. 

336 


The  Cowboy's  Christmas  Ball 

The  boys  had  left  the  ranches  and  come  to  town  in 
piles; 

The  ladies,  kinder  scattering  had  gathered  in  for 
miles. 

And  yet  the  place  was  crowded,  as  I  remember  well, 

'Twas  gave  on  this  occasion  at  the  Morning  Star 
Hotel. 

The  music  was  a  fiddle  and  a  lively  tambourine, 

And  a  viol  came  imported,  by  the  stage  from  Abi- 
lene. 

The  room  was  togged  out  gorgeous  —  with  mistle- 
toe and  shawls, 

And  the  candles  flickered  festious,  around  the  airy 
walls. 

The  wimmen  folks  looked  lovely  —  the  boys  looked 
kinder  treed, 

Till  the  leader  commenced  yelling,  "  Whoa,  fellers, 
let's  stampede," 

And  the  music  started  sighing  and  a-wailing  through 
the  hall 

As  a  kind  of  introduction  to  the  Cowboy's  Christ- 
mas Ball. 

The  leader  was  a  feller  that  came  from  Swenson's 
ranch, — 

They  called  him  Windy  Billy  from  Little  Dead- 
man's  Branch. 

His  rig  was  kinder  keerless, —  big  spurs  and  high 
heeled  boots; 

He  had  the  reputation  that  comes  when  fellers 
shoots. 

337 


The  Cowboy's  Christmas  Ball 

His  voice  was  like  the  bugle  upon  the  mountain 

height; 

His  feet  were  animated,  and  a  mighty  movin'  sight, 
When  he  commenced  to  holler,  "  Now  fellers,  shake 

your  pen ! 
Lock  horns  ter  all  them  heifers  and  rustle  them  like 

men; 
Saloot  yer  lovely  critters;  neow  swing  and  let  'em 

go; 
Climb  the  grapevine  round  'em;  neow  all  hands  do- 

ce-do ! 
You   maverick,   jine   the   round-up, —  jes   skip   the 

waterfall," 
Huh !  hit  was  getting  active,  the  Cowboy's  Christmas 

Ball. 

The  boys  was  tolerable  skittish,  the  ladies  powerful 

neat, 
That  old  bass  viol's  music  just  got  there  with  both 

feet! 

That  wailin',  frisky  fiddle,  I  never  shall  forget; 
And  Windy  kept   a-singin' —  I   think  I   hear  him 

yet  — 
"  Oh,  X's,  chase  yer  squirrels,  and  cut  'em  to  our 

side; 

Spur  Treadwell  to  the  center,  with  Cross  P  Char- 
ley's bride, 
Doc  Hollis  down  the  center,  and  twine  the  ladies' 

chain, 
Van  Andrews,  pen  the  fillies  in  big  T  Diamond's 

train. 

338 


The  Cowboy's  Christmas  Ball 

All  pull  your  freight  together,  neow  swallow  fork 
and  change; 

Big  Boston,  lead  the  trail  herd  through  little  Pitch- 
fork's range. 

Purr  round  yer  gentle  pussies,  neow  rope  and  bal- 
ance all!" 

Huh!  Hit  were  gettin'  active  —  the  Cowboy's 
Christmas  Ball. 

The  dust  riz  fast  and  furious;  we  all  jes  galloped 

round, 
Till  the  scenery  got  so  giddy  that  T  Bar  Dick  was 

downed. 

We  buckled  to  our  partners  and  told  'em  to  hold  on, 
Then  shook  our  hoofs  like  lightning  until  the  early 

dawn. 
Don't  tell   me   'bout   cotillions,    or   germans.     No 

sir-ee ! 

That  whirl  at  Anson  City  jes  takes  the  cake  with  me. 
I'm  sick  of  lazy  shufflin's,  of  them  I've  had  my  fill, 
Give  me  a  frontier  break-down  backed  up  by  Windy 

Bill. 
McAllister  ain't  nowhere,  when  Windy  leads  the 

show; 
I've  seen  'em  both  in  harness  and  so  I  ought  ter 

know. 

Oh,  Bill,  I  shan't  forget  yer,  and  I  oftentimes  recall 
That  lively  gaited  sworray  —  the  Cowboy's  Christ- 
mas Ball. 


339 


PINTO1 

I  AM  a  vaquero  by  trade ; 
To  handle  my  rope  I'm  not  afraid. 
I  lass*  an  otero  by  the  two  horns 
Throw  down  the  biggest  that  ever  was  born. 
Whoa!     Whoa!     Whoa!     Pinto,  whoa! 

My  name  to  you  I  will  not  tell ; 

For  what's  the  use,  you  know  me  so  well. 

The  girls  all  love  me,  and  cry 

When  I  leave  them  to  join  the  rodero. 

Whoa!     Whoa!     Whoa!     Pinto,  whoa! 

I  am  a  vaquero,  and  here  I  reside; 

Show  me  the  broncho  I  cannot  ride. 

They  say  old  Pinto  with  one  split  ear 

Is  the  hardest  jumping  broncho  on  the  rodero. 

Whoa!     Whoa!     Whoa!     Pinto,  whoa! 

There  strayed  to  our  camp  an  iron  gray  colt; 
The  boys  were  all  fraid  him  so  on  him  I  bolt. 
You  bet  I  stayed  with  him  till  cheer  after  cheer,- 
"  He's  the  broncho  twister  that's  on  the  rodero." 
Whoa!     Whoa!     Whoa!     Pinto,  whoa! 


340 


Pinto 

My  story  is  ended,  old  Pinto  is  dead; 
I'm  going  down  Laredo  and  paint  the  town  red. 
I'm  going  up  to  Laredo  and  set  up  the  beer 
To  all  the  cowboys  that's  on  the  rodero. 
Whoa!     Whoa!     Whoa!     Pinto,  whoa! 


THE  GAL  I  LEFT  BEHIND  ME 

I   STRUCK  the  trail  in  seventy-nine, 
The  herd  strung  out  behind  me ; 
As  I  jogged  along  my  mind  ran  back 
For  the  gal  I  left  behind  me. 

That  sweet  little  gal,  that  true  little  gal, 
The  gal  I  left  behind  me ! 

If  ever  I  get  off  the  trail 
And  the  Indians  they  don't  find  me, 
I'll  make  my  way  straight  back  again 
To  the  gal  I  left  behind  me. 

That  sweet  little  gal,  that  true  little  gal, 

The  gal  I  left  behind  me ! 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  rain  did  flow, 
The  hail  did  fall  and  blind  me; 
I  thought  of  that  gal,  that  sweet  little  gal, 
That  gal  I'd  left  behind  me ! 

That  sweet  little  gal,  that  true  little  gal, 

The  gal  I  left  behind  me ! 

She  wrote  ahead  to  the  place  I  said, 
I  was  always  glad  to  find  it. 
She  says,  "  I  am  true,  when  you  get  through 
Right  back  here  you  will  find  me." 
342 


The  Gal  I  Left  Behind  Me 

That  sweet  little  gal,  that  true  little  gal, 
The  gal  I  left  behind  me! 

When  we  sold  out  I  took  the  train, 
I  knew  where  I  would  find  her; 
When  I  got  back  we  had  a  smack 
And  that  was  no  gol-darned  liar. 

That  sweet  little  gal,  that  true  little  gal, 

The  gal  I  left  behind  me! 


343 


BILLY  THE  KID 

BILLY  was  a  bad  man 
And  carried  a  big  gun, 
He  was  always  after  Greasers 
And  kept  'em  on  the  run. 

He  shot  one  every  morning, 
For  to  make  his  morning  meal. 
And  let  a  white  man  sass  him, 
He  was  shore  to  feel  his  steel. 

He  kept  folks  in  hot  water, 
And  he  stole  from  many  a  stage; 
And  when  he  was  full  of  liquor 
He  was  always  in  a  rage. 

But  one  day  he  met  a  man 
Who  was  a  whole  lot  badder. 
And  now  he's  dead, 
And  we  ain't  none  the  sadder. 


344 


THE  HELLHOUND  TRAIN 

A  TEXAS  cowboy  lay  down  on  a  bar-room  floor. 
Having  drunk  so  much  he  could  drink  no  more ; 
So  he  fell  asleep  with  a  troubled  brain 
To  dream  that  he  rode  on  a  hell-bound  train. 

The  engine  with  murderous  blood  was  damp 
And  was  brilliantly  lit  with  a  brimstone  lamp; 
An  imp,  for  fuel,  was  shoveling  bones, 
While  the  furnace  rang  with  a  thousand  groans. 

The  boiler  was  filled  with  lager  beer 
And  the  devil  himself  was  the  engineer; 
The  passengers  were  a  most  motley  crew, — 
Church  member,  atheist,  Gentile,  and  Jew, 

Rich  men  in  broadcloth,  beggars  in  rags, 
Handsome  young  ladies,  and  withered  old  hags, 
Yellow  and  black  men,  red,  brown,  and  white, 
All  chained  together, —  O  God,  what  a  sight  1 

While  the  train  rushed  on  at  an  awful  pace, 
The   sulphurous   fumes   scorched  their  hands   and 

face; 

Wider  and  wider  the  country  grew, 
As  faster  and  faster  the  engine  flew. 

345 


The  Hell-Bound  Train 

Louder  and  louder  the  thunder  crashed 
And  brighter  and  brighter  the  lightning  flashed; 
Hotter  and  hotter  the  air  became 
Till  the   clothes  were  burnt  from  each   quivering 
frame. 

And  out  of  the  distance  there  arose  a  yell, 
"  Ha,  ha,"  said  the  devil,  "  we're  nearing  hell !  " 
Then  oh,  how  the  passengers  all  shrieked  with  pain 
And  begged  the  devil  to  stop  the  train. 

But  he  capered  about  and  danced  for  glee 
And  laughed  and  joked  at  their  misery. 
"  My  faithful  friends,  you  have  done  the  work 
And  the  devil  never  can  a  payday  shirk. 

"You've  bullied  the  weak,  youVe  robbed  the  poor; 
The  starving  brother  you've  turned  from  the  door, 
You've  laid  up  gold  where  the  canker  rust, 
And  have  given  free  vent  to  your  beastly  lust. 

"  You've  justice  scorned,  and  corruption  sown, 

And  trampled  the  laws  of  nature  down. 

You  have  drunk,   rioted,   cheated,   plundered,  and 

lied, 
And  mocked  at  God  in  your  hell-born  pride. 

"  You  have  paid  full  fare  so  I'll  carry  you  through; 
For  it's  only  right  you  should  have  your  due. 
Why,  the  laborer  always  expects  his  hire, 
So  I'll  Ian3  you  safe  in  the  lake  of  fire. 


The  Hell-Bound  Train 

"Where  your  flesh  will  waste  in  the  flames  that  roar, 
And  my  imps  torment  you  forever  more." 
Then  the  cowboy  awoke  with  an  anguished  cry, 
His  clothes  wet  with  sweat  and  his  hair  standing 
high. 

Then  he  prayed  as  he  never  had  prayed  till  that  hour 
To  be  saved  from  his  sin  and  the  demon's  power. 
And  his  prayers  and  his  vows  were  not  in  vain; 
For  he  never  rode  the  hell-bound  train. 


347 


THE  OLD  SCOUT'S  LAMENT 

COME  all  of  you,  my  brother  scouts, 
And  listen  to  my  song; 
Come,  let  us  sing  together 
Though  the  shadows  fall  so  long. 

Of  all  the  old  frontiersmen 
That  used  to  scour  the  plain 
There  are  but  very  few  of  them 
That  with  us  yet  remain. 

Day  after  day  they're  dropping  off, 
They're  going  one  by  one; 
Our  clan  is  fast  decreasing, 
Our  race  is  almost  run. 

There  are  many  of  our  number 
That  never  wore  the  blue, 
But  faithfully  they  did  their  part 
As  brave  men,  tried  and  true. 

They  never  joined  the  army, 
But  had  other  work  to  do 
In  piloting  the  coming  folks, 
To  help  them  safely  through. 
348 


The  Old  Scouts  Lament 

But  brothers,  we  are  failing, 
Our  race  is  almost  run; 
The  days  of  elk  and  buffalo 
And  beaver  traps  are  gone  — 

Oh,  the  days  of  elk  and  buffalo! 

It  fills  my  heart  with  pain 

To  know  these  days  are  past  and  gone 

To  never  come  again. 

We  fought  the  red-skin  rascals 
Over  valley,  hill,  and  plain; 
We  fought  him  in  the  mountain  top, 
We  fought  him  down  again. 

These  fighting  days  are  over. 
The  Indian  yell  resounds 
No  more  along  the  border; 
Peace  sends  far  sweeter  sounds. 

But  we  found  great  joy,  old  comrades, 
To  hear  and  make  it  die; 
We  won  bright  homes  for  gentle  ones, 
And  now,  our  West,  good-bye. 


349 


THE  DESERTED  ADOBE 

ROUND  the  'dobe  rank  sands  are  thickly  blowin', 
Its  ridges  fill  the  deserted  field; 
Yet  on  this  claim  young  lives  once  hope  were  sowing 
For  all  the  years  might  yield; 
And  in  strong  hands  the  echoing  hoof  pursuin' 
A  wooden  share  turned  up  the  sod, 
The  toiler  brave  drank  deep  the  fresh  air's  brewin' 
And  sang  content  to  God. 

The  toiler  brave  drank  deep  the  fresh  air's  brewin' 

And  sang  content  to  God. 

A  woman  fair  and  sweet  has  smilin'  striven 

Through  long  and  lonesome  hours; 

A  blue-eyed  babe,  a  bit  of  earthly  heaven, 

Laughed  at  the  sun's  hot  towers ; 

A  bow  of  promise  made  this  desert  splendid, 

This  'dobe  was  their  pride. 

But  what  began  so  well,  alas,  has  ended  — , 

The  promise  died. 

But  what  began  so  well  alas  soon  ended  — , 

The  promise  died. 

Their  plans  and  dreams,  their  cheerful  labor  wasted 
In  dry  and  mis-spent  years; 
The  spring  was  sweet,  the  summer  bitter  tasted, 

350 


The  Deserted  Adobe 

The  autumn  salt  with  tears. 

Now    "  gyp "    and    sand    do    hide    their    one-time 

yearnin' ; 

'Twas  theirs ;  'tis  past. 

God's  ways  are  strange,  we  take  so  long  in  learning 
To  fail  at  last. 

God's   ways   are   strange,    we   take   so   long   in 

learnin', 
To  fail  at  last. 


351 


THE  COWBOY  AT  WORK 

YOU  may  call  the  cowboy  horned  and  think  him 
hard  to  tame, 

You  may  heap  vile  epithets  upon  his  head; 
But  to  know  him  is  to  like  him,  notwithstanding  his 

hard  name, 
For  he  will  divide  with  you  his  beef  and  bread. 

If  you  see  him  on  his  pony  as  he  scampers  o'er  the 

plain, 

You  would  think  him  wild  and  woolly,  to  be  sure; 
But  his  heart  is  warm  and  tender  when  he  sees  a 

friend  in  need, 
Though  his  education  is  but  to  endure. 

When  the  storm  breaks  in  its  fury  and  the  light- 
ning's vivid  flash 

Makes  you  thank  the  Lord  for  shelter  and  for  bed, 

Then  it  is  he  mounts  his  pony  and  away  you  see  him 
dash,  . 

No  protection  but  the  hat  upon  his  head. 

Such  is  life  upon  a  cow  ranch,  and  the  half  was  never 

told; 

But  you  never  find  a  kinder-hearted  set 

352 


The  Cowboy  at  Work 

Than  the  cattleman  at  home,  be  he  either  young  or 

old, 
He's  a  "  daisy  from  away  back,"  don't  forget 

When  you  fail  to  find  a  pony  or  a  cow  that's  gone 

a-stray, 

Be  that  cow  or  pony  wild  or  be  it  tame, 
The  cowboy,  like  the  drummer, —  and  the  bed-bug, 

too,  they  say, — 
Brings  him  to  you,  for  he  gets  there  just  the  same. 


353 


HERE'S  TO  THE  RANGER! 

HE  leaves  unplowed  his  furrow, 
He  leaves  his  books  unread 
For  a  life  of  tented  freedom 
By  lure  of  danger  led. 
He's  first  in  the  hour  of  peril, 
He's  gayest  in  the  dance, 
Like  the  guardsman  of  old  England 
Or  the  beau  sabreur  of  France. 

He  stands  our  faithful  bulwark 
Against  our  savage  foe; 
Through  lonely  woodland  places 
Our  children  come  and  go; 
Our  flocks  and  herds  untended 
O'er  hill  and  valley  roam, 
The  Ranger  in  the  saddle 
Means  peace  for  us  at  home. 

Behold  our  smiling  farmsteads 
Where  waves  the  golden  grain! 
Beneath  yon  tree,  earth's  bosom 
Was  dark  with  crimson  stain. 
That  bluff  the  death-shot  echoed 
Of  husband,  father,  slain! 
354 


Here's  to  the  Ranger! 

God  grant  such  sight  of  horror 
We  never  see  again! 

The  gay  and  hardy  Ranger, 

His  blanket  on  the  ground, 

Lies  by  the  blazing  camp-fire 

While  song  and  tale  goes  round; 

And  if  one  voice  is  silent, 

One  fails  to  hear  the  jest, 

They  know  his  thoughts  are  absent 

With  her  who  loves  him  best. 

Our  state,  her  sons  confess  it, 
That  queenly,  star-crowned  brow, 
Has  darkened  with  the  shadow 
Of  lawlessness  ere  now; 
And  men  of  evil  passions 
On  her  reproach  have  laid, 
But  that  the  ready  Ranger 
Rode  promptly  to  her  aid. 

He  may  not  win  the  laurel 
Nor  trumpet  tongue  of  fame; 
But  beauty  smiles  upon  him, 
And  ranchmen  bless  his  name. 
Then  here's  to  the  Texas  Ranger, 
Past,  present  and  to  come! 
Our  safety  from  the  savage, 
The  guardian  of  our  home. 

355 


MUSTER  OUT  THE  RANGER 

YES,  muster  them  out,  the  valiant  band 
That  guards  our  western  home. 
iWhat  matter  to  you  in  your  eastern  land 
If  the  raiders  here  should  come? 
"No  danger  that  you  shall  awake  at  night 
To  the  howls  of  a  savage  band; 
So  muster  them  out,  though  the  morning  light 
Find  havoc  on  every  hand. 

Some  dear  one  is  sick  and  the  horses  all  gone, 

So  we  can't  for  a  doctor  send; 

The  outlaws  were  in  in  the  light  of  the  morn 

And  no  Rangers  here  to  defend. 

For  they've  mustered  them  out,  the  brave  true  band, 

Untiring  by  night  and  day. 

The  fearless  scouts  of  this  border  land 

Made  the  taxes  high,  they  say. 

Have  fewer  men  in  the  capitol  walls, 
Fewer  tongues  in  the  war  of  words, 
But  add  to  the  Rangers,  the  living  wall 
That  keeps  back  the  bandit  hordes. 
Have  fewer  dinners,  less  turtle  soup, 
If  the  taxes  are  too  high. 

356 


Muster  Out  the  Ranger 

There  are  many  other  and  better  ways 
To  lower  them  if  they  try. 

Don't  waste  so  much  of  your  money 

Printing  speeches  people  don't  read. 

If  you'd  only  take  off  what's  used  for  that 

'Twould  lower  the  tax  indeed. 

Don't  use  so  much  sugar  and  lemons; 

Cold  water  is  just  as  good 

For  a  constant  drink  in  the  summer  time 

And  better  for  the  blood. 

But  leave  us  the  Rangers  to  guard  us  still, 
Nor  think  that  they  cost  too  dear; 
For  their  faithful  watch  over  vale  and  hill 
Gives  our  loved  ones  naught  to  fear. 


357 


A  COW  CAMP  ON  THE  RANGE 

OH,  the  prairie  dogs  are  screaming, 
And  the  birds  are  on  the  wing, 
See  the  heel  fly  chase  the  heifer,  boysl 
'Tis  the  first  class  sign  of  spring. 
The  elm  wood  is  budding, 
The  earth  is  turning  green. 
See  the  pretty  things  of  nature 
That  make  life  a  pleasant  dream! 

I'm  just  living  through  the  winter 
To  enjoy  the  coming  change, 
For  there  is  no  place  so  homelike 
As  a  cow  camp  on  the  range. 
The  boss  is  smiling  radiant, 
Radiant  as  the  setting  sun; 
For  he  knows  he's  stealing  glories, 
For  he  ain't  a-cussin'  none. 

The  cook  is  at  the  chuck-box 
Whistling  "  Heifers  in  the  Green," 
Making  baking  powder  biscuits,  boys, 
While  the  pot  is  biling  beans. 
The  boys  untie  their  bedding 
And  unroll  it  on  the  run, 
358 


A  Cow  Camp  on  the  Range 

For  they  are  in  a  monstrous  hurry 
For  the  supper's  almost  done. 

"  Here's  your  bloody  wolf  bait," 

Cried  the  cook's  familiar  voice 

As  he  climbed  the  wagon  wheel 

To  watch  the  cowboys  all  rejoice. 

Then  all  thoughts  were  turned  from  reverence 

To  a  plate  of  beef  and  beans, 

As  we  graze 'on  beef  and  biscuits 

Like  yearlings  on  the  range. 

To  the  dickens  with  your  city 
Where  they  herd  the  brainless  brats, 
On  a  range  so  badly  crowded 
There  ain't  room  to  cuss  the  cat. 
This  life  is  not  so  sumptuous, 
I'm  not  longing  for  a  change, 
For  there  is  no  place  so  homelike 
As  a  cow  camp  on  the  range. 


359 


FRECKLES.    A  FRAGMENT 

HE  was  little  an'  peaked  an'  thin,  an*  narry  a  no 
account  horse, — 
Least  that's  the  way  you'd  describe  him  in  case  that 

the  beast  had  been  lost; 
But,  for  single  and  double  cussedness  an'  for  double 

fired  sin, 

The  horse  never  came  out  o'  Texas  that  was  half- 
way knee-high  to  him ! 

The  first  time  that  ever  I  saw  him  was  nineteen  years 

ago  last  spring; 
'Twas  the  year  we  had  grasshoppers,  that  come  an' 

et  up  everything, 
That  a  feller  rode  up  here  one  evenin'  an'  wanted 

to  pen  over  night 
A  small  bunch  of  horses,  he  said;  an'  I  told  him  I 

guessed  'twas  all  right. 

Well,  the  feller  was  busted,  the  horses  was  thin,  an' 
the  grass  round  here  kind  of  good, 

An'  he  said  if  I'd  let  him  hold  here  a  few  days  he'd 
settle  with  me  when  he  could. 


360 


Freckles.     A  Fragment 

So  I  told  him  all  right,  turn  them  loose  down  the 
draw,  that  the  latch  string  was  always  untied, 

He  was  welcome  to  stop  a  few  days  if  he  wished 
and  rest  from  his  weary  ride. 

Well,  the  cuss  stayed  around  for  two  or  three  weeks, 

till  at  last  he  was  ready  to  go  ; 
And  that  cuss  out  yonder  bein'  too  poor  to  move,  he 

gimme,  —  the  cuss  had  no  dough. 
Well,  at  first  the  darn  brute  was  as  wild  as  a  deer, 

an'  would  snort  when  he  came  to  the  branch, 
An'  it  took  two  cow  punchers,  on  good  horses,  too, 

to  handle  him  here  at  the  ranch. 

Well,  the  winter  came  on  an'  the  range  it  got  hard, 

an'  my  mustang  commenced  to  get  thin, 
So  I  fed  him  some  an'  rode  him  around,  an'  found 

out  old  Freckles  was  game. 
For  that  was  what  the  other  cuss  called  him,  —  just 

Freckles,  no  more  or  no  less,  — 
His  color,  —  couldn't  describe  it,  —  something  like  a 

paint  shop  in  distress. 

Them  was  Indian  times,  young  feller,  that  I  am  tell- 

ing about; 
An'  oft's  the  time  I've  seen  the  red  man  fight  an' 

put  the  boys  to  rout. 
A  good  horse  in  them  days,  young  feller,  would  save 

your  life,  — 
One  that  in  any  race  could  hold  the  pace  when  the 

red-skin  bands  were  rife. 


361 


WHOSE  OLD  COW? 

>T  I  ^WAS  the  end  of  round-up,  the  last  day  of 

JL  June, 

Or  maybe  July,  I  don't  remember, 
Or  it  might  have  been  August,  'twas  some  time  ago, 
Or  perhaps  'twas  the  first  of  September. 

Anyhow,  'twas  the  round-up  we  had  at  Mayou 
On  the  Lightning  Rod's  range,  near  Cayo; 
There   were   some   twenty  wagons,   more   or  less, 

camped  about 
On  the  temporal  in  the  canon. 

First  night  we'd  no  cattle,  so  we  only  stood  guard 
On  the  horses,  somewhere  near  two  hundred  head; 
So  we  side-lined  and  hoppled,  we  belled  and  we 

staked, 
Loosed  our  hot-rolls  and  fell  into  bed. 

Next  morning  'bout  day  break  we  started  our  work, 
Our  horses,  like  'possums,  felt  fine. 
Each  one  "  tendin'  knittin',"  none  tryin'  to  shirk! 
So  the  round-up  got  on  in  good  time. 


362 


Whose  Old  Cow? 

W.ell,  we  worked  for  a  week  till  the  country  was 

clean 

And  the  bosses  said,  "  Now,  boys,  we'll  stay  here. 
We'll  carve  and  we'll  trim  'em  and  start  out  a  herd 
Up  the  east  trail  from  old  Abilene." 

Next  morning  all  on  herd,  and  but  two  with  the  cut, 
And  the  boss  on  Piute,  carving  fine, 
Till  he  rode  down  his  horse  and  had  to  pull  out, 
And  a  new  man  went  in  to  clean  up. 

Well,  after  each  outfit  had  worked  on  the  band 
There  was  only  three  head  of  them  left; 
When  Nig  Add  from  L  F  D  outfit  rode  in, — 
A  dictionary  on  earmarks  and  brands. 

He  cut  the  two  head  out,  told  where  they  belonged; 
But  when  the  last  cow  stood  there  alone 
Add's  eyes  bulged  so  he  didn't  know  just  what  to  say, 
'Ceptin',  "  Boss,  dere's  something  here  monstrous 
wrong ! 

"  White  folks  smarter'n  Add,  and  maybe  I'se  wrong; 
But  here's  six  months'  wages  dat  I'll  give 
If  anyone'll  tell  me  when  I  reads  dis  mark 
To  who  dis  longhorned  cow  belong  I 

"  Overslope  in  right  ear  an'  de  underbill, 
Lef  ear  swaller  fork  an'  de  undercrop, 
Hole  punched  in  center,  an'  de  jinglebob 
Under  half  crop,  an'  de  slash  an'  split. 

363 


Whose  Old  Cow? 

"  She's  got  O  Block  an'  Lightnin'  Rod, 
Nine  Forty-Six  an'  A  Bar  Eleven, 
T  Terrapin  an'  Ninety-Seven, 
Rafter  Cross  an'  de  Double  Prod. 

"  Half  circle  A  an'  Diamond  D, 
Four  Cross  L  and  Three  P  Z, 
BWI  bar,  XVV, 
Bar  N  cross  an'  A  L  C. 

"  So,  if  none  o'  you  punchers  claims  dis  cow, 
Mr.  Stock  'Sociation  needn't  git  'larmed; 
For  one  more  brand  more  or  less  won't  do  no  harm, 
So  old  Nigger  Add'l  just  brand  her  now." 


364 


OLD  TIME  COWBOY 

GOME  all  you  melancholy  folks  wherever  you 
maybe, 
I'll  sing  you  about  the  cowboy  whose  life  is  light  and 

free. 
He  roams  about  the  prairie,  and,  at  night  when  he 

lies  down, 

His  heart  is  as  gay  as  the  flowers  in  May  in  his  bed 
upon  the  ground. 

They're  a  little  bit  rough,  I  must  confess,  the  most 

of  them,  at  least; 
But  if  you  do  not  hunt  a  quarrel  you  can  live  with 

them  in  peace ; 
For  if  you  do,  you're  sure  to  rue  the  day  you  joined 

their  band. 
They  will  follow  you  up  and  shoot  it  out  with  you 

just  man  to  man. 

Did  you  ever  go  to  a  cowboy  whenever  hungry  and 

dry, 

Asking  for  a  dollar,  and  have  him  you  deny? 
He'll  just  pull  out  his  pocket  book  and  hand  you  a 

note, — 
They  are  the  fellows  to  help  you  whenever  you  are 

broke. 

365 


Old  Time  Cowboy 

Go  to  their  ranches  and  stay  a  while,  they  never  ask 

a  cent; 
And  when  they  go  to  town,  their  money  is  freely 

spent 
They  walk  straight  up  and  take  a  drink,  paying  for 

every  one, 
And    they   never    ask   your   pardon    for    anything 

they've  done. 

When  they  go  to  their  dances,  some  dance  while 

others  pat. 
They  ride  their  bucking  bronchos,  and  wear  their 

broad-brimmed  hats; 
With  their  California  saddles,  and  their  pants  stuck 

in  their  boots, 
You  can  hear  their  spurs  a-jingling,  and  perhaps 

some  of  them  shoots. 

Come  all  soft-hearted  tenderfeet,  if  you  want  to 

have  some  fun; 
Go  live  among  the  cowboys,  they'll  show  you  how 

it's  done. 
They'll  treat  you  like  a  prince,  my  boys,  about  them 

there's  nothing  mean; 
But  don't  try  to  give  them  too  much  advice,  for  all 

of  them  ain't  green. 


366 


BUCKING  BRONCHO 

MY  love  is  a  rider,  wild  bronchos  he  breaks, 
Though  he's  promised  to  quit  it,  just  for  my 
sake. 

He  ties  up  one  foot,  the  saddle  puts  on, 
With  a  swing  and  a  jump  he  is  mounted  and  gone. 

The  first  time  I  met  him,  'twas  early  one  spring, 

Riding  a  broncho,  a  high-headed  thing. 

He  tipped  me  a  wink  as  he  gaily  did  go ; 

For  he  wished  me  to  look  at  his  bucking  broncho. 

The  next  time  I  saw  him  'twas  late  in  the  fall, 
Swinging  the  girls  at  Tomlinson's  ball. 
He  laughed  and  he  talked  as  we  danced  to  and  fro, 
Promised  never  to  ride  on  another  broncho. 

He  made  me  some  presents,  among  them  a  ring; 
The  return  that  I  made  him  was  a  far  better  thing; 
'Twas  a  young  maiden's  heart,  I'd  have  you  all 

know; 
He's  won  it  by  riding  his  bucking  broncho. 

My  love  has  a  gun,  and  that  gun  he  can  use, 

But  he's  quit  his  gun  fighting  as  well  as  his  booze; 

367 


Bucking  Broncho 

And  he's  sold  him  his  saddle,  his  spurs,  and  his  rope, 
And  there's  no  more  cow  punching,  and  that's  what  I 
hope. 

My  love  has  a  gun  that  has  gone  to  the  bad, 
Which  makes  poor  old  Jimmy  feel  pretty  damn  sad; 
For  the  gun  it  shoots  high  and  the  gun  it  shoots  low, 
And  it  wobbles  about  like  a  bucking  broncho. 

Now  all  you  young  maidens,  where'er  you  reside, 
Beware  of  the  cowboy  who  swings  the  raw-hide; 
He'll  court  you  and  pet  you  and  leave  you  and  go 
In  the  spring  up  the  trail  on  his  bucking  broncho. 


368 


w 


THE  PECOS  QUEEN 

'HERE  the  Pecos  River  winds  and  turns  in  its 

journey  to  the  sea, 
From  its  white  walls  of  sand  and  rock  striving  ever 

to  be  free, 

Near  the  highest  railroad  bridge  that  all  these  mod- 
ern times  have  seen, 

Dwells  fair  young  Patty  Morehead,  the  Pecos  River 
queen. 

She  is  known  by  every  cowboy  on  the  Pecos  River 

wide, 
They  know  full  well  that  she  can  shoot,  that  she  can 

rope  and  ride. 
She  goes  to  every  round-up,  every  cow  work  without 

fail, 
Looking  out  for  her  cattle,  branded  "  walking  hog 

on  rail." 

She  made  her  start  in  cattle,  yes,  made  it  with  her 

rope; 
Can  tie  down  every  maverick  before  it  can  strike  a 

lope. 
She  can  rope  and  tie  and  brand  it  as  quick  as  any 

man; 

She's  voted  by  all  cowboys  an  A-i  top  cow  hand. 

369 


The  Pecos  Queen 

Across  the  Comstock  railroad  bridge,  the  highest  in 
the  West, 

Patty  rode  her  horse  one  day,  a  lover's  heart  to  test; 

For  he  told  her  he  would  gladly  risk  all  dangers  for 
her  sake  — 

But  the  puncher  wouldn't  follow,  so  she's  still  with- 
out a  mate. 


370 


CHOPO 

THROUGH  rocky  arroyas  so  dark  and  so  deep, 
Down  the  sides  of  the  mountains  so  slippery 
and  steep, — 
You've  good  judgment,  sure-footed,  wherever  you 

go, 
You're  a  safety  conveyance,  my  little  Chopo. 

Refrain : — 

Chopo,  my  pony,  Chopo,  my  pride, 
Chopo,  my  amigo,  Chopo  I  will  ride. 
From  Mexico's  borders  'cross  Texas'  Llano 
To  the  salt  Pecos  River,  I  ride  you,  Chopo. 

Whether  single  or  double  or  in  the  lead  of  the  team, 
Over  highways  or  byways  or  crossing  a  stream, — 
You're  always  in  fix  and  willing  to  go, 
Whenever  you're  called  on,  my  chico  Chopo. 

You're  a  good  roping  horse,  you  were  never  jerked 

down, 

When  tied  to  a  steer,  you  will  circle  him  round; 
Let  him  once  cross  the  string  and  over  he'll  go, — 
You  sabe  the  business,  my  cow-horse,  Chopo. 

37i 


Chopo 

One  day  on  the  Llano  a  hailstorm  began, 
The  herds  were  stampeded,  the  horses  all  ran, 
The  lightning  it  glittered,  a  cyclone  did  blow, 
But  you  faced  the  sweet  music,  my  little  Chopo. 


372 


TOP  HAND 

WHILE  you're  all  so  frisky  I'll  sing  a  little 
song, — 
Think  a  little  horn  of  whiskey  will  help  the  thing 

along? 

It's  all  about  the  Top  Hand,  when  he  busted  flat 
Bummin'  round  the  town,  in  his  Mexican  hat. 
He's  laid  up  all  winter,  and  his  pocket  book  is  flat, 
His  clothes  are  all  tatters,  but  he  don't  mind  that. 

See  him  in  town  with  a  crowd  that  he  knows, 
Rollin'  cigarettes  and  smokin'  through  his  nose. 
First  thing  he  tells  you,  he  owns  a  certain  brand, — 
Leads  you  to  think  he  is  a  daisy  hand; 
Next  thing  he  tells  you  'bout  his  trip  up  the  trail, 
All  the  way  to  Kansas,  to  finish  out  his  tale. 

Put  him  on  a  hoss,  he's  a  handy  hand  to  work; 
Put  him  in  the  brandin'-pen,  he's  dead  sure  to  shirk. 
With  his  natural  leaf  tobacco  in  the  pockets  of  his 

vest 

He'll  tell  you  his  California  pants  are  the  best. 
He's  handled  lots  of  cattle,  hasn't  any  fears, 
Can  draw  his  sixty  dollars  for  the  balance  of  his 

years. 

Put  him  on  herd,  he's  a-cussin'  all  day; 
Anything  he  tries,  it's  sure  to  get  away. 

373 


Top  Hand 

When  you  have  a  round-up,  he  tells  it  all  about 
He's  goin'  to  do  the  cuttin'  an'  you  can't  keep  him 

out. 

If  anything  goes  wrong,  he  lays  it  on  the  screws, 
Says  the  lazy  devils  were  tryin'  to  take  a  snooze. 

When  he  meets  a  greener  he  ain't  afraid  to  rig, 
Stands  him  on  a  chuck  box  and  makes  him  dance  a 

jig>— 

Waves  a  loaded  cutter,  makes  him  sing  and  shout, — 
He's  a  regular  Ben  Thompson  when  the  boss  ain't 

about. 
When  the  boss  ain't  about  he  leaves  his  leggins  in 

camp, 
He  swears  a  man  who  wears  them  is  worse  than  a 

tramp. 

Says  he's  not  carin'  for  the  wages  he  earns, 
For  Dad's  rich  in  Texas, —  got  wagon  loads  to  burn; 
But  when  he  goes  to  town,  he's  sure  to  take  it  in, 
He's  always  been  dreaded  wherever  he's  been. 
He  rides  a  fancy  horse,  he's  a  favorite  man, 
Can  get  more  credit  than  a  common  waddie  can. 

When  you  ship  the  cattle  he's  bound  to  go  along 
To  keep  the  boss  from  drinking  and  see  that  noth- 
ing's wrong. 

Wherever  he  goes,  catch  on  to  his  name, 
He  likes  to  be  called  with  a  handle  to  his  name. 
He's  always  primping  with  a  pocket  looking-glass, 
From  the  top  to  the  bottom  he's  a  bold  Jackass. 

374 


CALIFORNIA  TRAII? 

LIST  all  you  California  boys 
And  open  wide  your  ears, 
For  now  we  start  across  the  plains 
With  a  herd  of  mules  and  steers. 
Now,  bear  in  mind  before  you  start, 
That  you'll  eat  jerked  beef,  not  ham, 
And  antelope  steak,  Oh  cuss  the  stuff! 
It  often  proves  a  sham. 

You  cannot  fin4  a  stick  of  wood 

On  all  this  prairie  wide ; 

Whene'er  you  eat  you've  got  to  stand 

Or  sit  on  some  old  bull  hide. 

It's  fun  to  cook  with  buffalo  chips 

Or  mesquite,  green  as  corn, — 

If  I'd  once  known  what  I  know  now 

I'd  have  gone  around  Cape  Horn. 

The  women  have  the  hardest  time 

Who  emigrate  by  land; 

For  when  they  cook  out  in  the  wind 

They're  sure  to  burn  their  hand. 

Then  they  scold  their  husbands  round, 

Get  mad  and  spill  the  tea, — 

I'd  have  thanked  my  stars  if  they'd  not  come  out 

Upon  this  bleak  prairie. 

375 


California  Trail 

Most  every  night  we  put  out  guards 

To  keep  the  Indians  off. 

When  night  comes  round  some  heads  will  ache, 

And  some  begin  to  cough. 

To  be  deprived  of  help  at  night, 

You  know  is  mighty  hard, 

But  every  night  there's  someone  sick 

To  keep  from  standing  guard. 

Then  they're  always  talking  of  what  they've  got, 

And  what  they're  going  to  do; 

Some  will  say  they're  content, 

For  I've  got  as  much  as  you. 

Others  will  say,  "  I'll  buy  or  sell, 

I'm  damned  if  I  care  which." 

Others  will  say,  "  Boys,  buy  him  out, 

For  he  doesn't  own  a  stitch." 

Old  raw-hide  shoes  are  hell  on  corns 

While  tramping  through  the  sands, 

And  driving  jackass  by  the  tail, — 

Damn  the  overland ! 

I  would  as  leaf  be  on  a  raft  at  sea 

And  there  at  once  be  lost. 

John,  let's  leave  the  poor  old  mule, 

We'll  never  get  him  across ! 


376 


BRONC  PEELER'S  SONG 

I'VE  been  upon  the  prairie, 
I've  been  upon  the  plain, 
I've  never  rid  a  steam-boat, 
Nor  a  double-cinched-up  train. 
But  I've  driv  my  eight-up  to  wagon 
That  were  locked  three  in  a  row, 
And  that  through  blindin'  sand  storms, 
And  all  kinds  of  wind  and  snow. 

Cho:  — 

Goodbye,  Liza,  poor  gal, 
Goodbye,  Liza  Jane, 
Goodbye,  Liza,  poor  gal, 
She  died  on  the  plain. 

There  never  was  a  place  I've  been 
Had  any  kind  of  wood. 
We  burn  the  roots  of  bar-grass 
And  think  it's  very  good. 
I've  never  tasted  home  bread, 
Nor  cakes,  nor  muss  like  that; 
But  I  know  fried  dough  and  beef 
Pulled  from  red-hot  tallow  fat. 

I  hate  to  see  the  wire  fence 
A-closin'  up  the  range; 
377 


Bronc  Peeler's  Song 

And  all  this  fillin'  in  the  trail 

With  people  that  is  strange. 

We  fellers  don't  know  how  to  plow, 

Nor  reap  the  golden  grain ; 

But  to  round  up  steers  and  brand  the  cows 

To  us  was  allus  plain. 

So  when  this  blasted  country 

Is  all  closed  in  with  wire, 

And  all  the  top,  as  trot  grass, 

Is  burnin'  in  SoPs  fire, 

I  hope  the  settlers  will  be  glad 

When  rain  hits  the  land. 

And  all  us  cowdogs  are  in  hell 

With  a  "  set "  *  joined  hand  in  hand. 

*"set"  means  settler. 


378 


A  DEER  HUNT 

ONE  pleasant  summer  day  it  came  a  storm  of 
snow; 
I  picked  my  old  gun  and  a-hunting  I  did  go. 

I  came  across  a  herd  of  deer  and  I  trailed  them 

through  the  snow, 
I  trailed  them  to  the  mountains  where  straight  up 

they  did  go. 

I  trailed  them  o'er  the  mountains,  I  trailed  them  to 

the  brim, 
And  I  trailed  them  to  the  waters  where  they  jumped 

in  to  swim. 

I  cocked  both'  my  pistols  and  under  water  went, — 
To  kill  the  fattest  of  them  deer,  that  was  my  whole 
intent. 

While  I  was  under  water  five  hundred  feet  or  more 
I  fired  both  my  pistols ;  like  cannons  did  they  roar. 

I  picked  up  my  venison  and  out  of  water  came, — 
To  kill  the  balance  of  them  deer,  I  thought  it  would 
be  fun. 


379 


A  Deer  Hunt 

So  I  bent  my  gun  in  circles  and  fired  round  a  hill. 
And,  out  of  three  or  four  deer,  ten  thousand  I  did 
kill. 

Then  I  picked  up  my  venison  and  on  my  back  I  tied 
And  as  the  sun  came  passing  by  I  hopped  up  there 
to  ride. 

The  sun  she  carried  me  o'er  the  globe,  so  merrily  I 

did  roam 
That  in  four  and  twenty  hours  I  landed  safe  at  home. 

And  the  money  I  received  for  my  venison  and  skin, 
I  taken  it  all  to  the  barn  door  and  it  would  not  all 
go  in. 

And  if  you  doubt  the  truth  of  this  I  tell  you  how  to 

know: 
Just  take  my  trail  and  go  my  rounds,  as  I  did,  long 

ago. 


WINDY  BILL 

WINDY  BILL  was  a  Texas  man,— 
Well,  he  could  rope,  you  bet. 
He  swore  the  steer  he  couldn't  tie, — 
Well,  he  hadn't  found  him  yet. 
But  the  boys  they  knew  of  an  old  black  steer, 
A  sort  of  an  old  outlaw 
That  ran  down  in  the  malpais 
At  the  foot  of  a  rocky  draw. 

This  old  black  steer  had  stood  his  ground 

With  punchers  from  everywhere; 

So  they  bet  old  Bill  at  two  to  one 

That  he  couldn't  quite  get  there. 

Then  Bill  brought  out  his  old  gray  hoss, 

His  withers  and  back  were  raw, 

And  prepared  to  tackle  the  big  black  brute 

That  ran  down  in  the  draw. 

With  his  brazen  bit  and  his  Sam  Stack  tree 
His  chaps  and  taps  to  boot, 
And  his  old  maguey  tied  hard  and  fast, 
Bill  swore  he'd  get  the  brute. 
Now,  first  Bill  sort  of  sauntered  round 
Old  Blackie  began  to  paw, 
Then  threw  his  tail  straight  in  the  air 
And  went  driftin'  down  the  draw. 
381 


Windy  Bill 

The  old  gray  plug  flew  after  him, 

For  he'd  been  eatin'  corn; 

And  Bill,  he  piled  his  old  maguey 

Right  round  old  Blackie's  horns. 

The  old  gray  hoss  he  stopped  right  still; 

The  cinches  broke  like  straw, 

And  the  old  maguey  and  the  Sam  Stack  tree 

Went  driftm'  down  the  draw. 

Bill,  he  lit  in  a  flint  rock  pile, 

His  face  and  hands  were  scratched. 

He  said  he  thought  he  could  rope  a  snake 

But  he  guessed  he'd  met  his  match. 

He  paid  his  bets  like  a  little  man 

Without  a  bit  of  jaw, 

And  lowed  old  Blackie  was  the  boss 

Of  anything  in  the  draw. 

There's  a  moral  to  my  story,  boys, 
And  that  you  all  must  see. 
Whenever  you  go  to  tie  a  snake,*** 
Don't  tie  it  to  your  tree; 
But  take  your  dolly  welters  * 
'Cordin'  to  California  law, 
And  you'll  never  see  your  old  rim-fire  ** 
Go  drifting  down  the  draw. 

***  snake,  bad  steer. 

*  Dolly  welter,  rope  tied  all  around  the  saddle. 

**  rim-fire  saddle,  without  flank  girth. 


382 


WILD  ROVERS 

COME  all  you  wild  rovers 
And  listen  to  me 
While  I  retail  to  you 
My  sad  history. 
I'm  a  man  of  experience 
Your  favors  to  gain, 
Oh,  love  has  been  the  ruin 
Of  many  a  poor  man. 

When  you  are  single 

And  living  at  your  ease 

You  can  roam  this  world  over 

And  do  as  you  please; 

You  can  roam  this  world  over 

And  go  where  you  will 

And  slyly  kiss  a  pretty  girl 

And  be  your  own  still. 

But  when  you  are  married 
And  living  with  your  wife, 
YouVe  lost  all  the  joys 
And  comforts  of  life. 
Your  wife  she  will  scold  you, 
Your  children  will  cry, 

383 


Wild  Rovers 

And  that  will  make  papa 
Look  withered  and  dry. 

You  can't  step  aside,  boys, 

To  speak  to  a  friend 

Without  your  wife  at  your  elbow 

Saying,  "  What  does  this  mean?  " 

Your  wife,  she  will  scold 

And  there  is  sad  news. 

Dear  boys,  take  warning; 

'Tis  a  life  to  refuse. 

•If  you  chance  to  be  riding 
Along  the  highway 
And  meet  a  fair  maiden, 
A  lady  so  gay, 
With  red,  rosy  cheeks 
And  sparkling  blue  eyes, — 
Oh,  heavens !  what  a  tumult 
In  your  bosom  will  rise ! 

One  more  request,  boys, 
Before  we  must  part: 
Don't  place  your  affections 
On  a  charming  sweetheart; 
She'll  dance  before  you 
Your  favors  to  gain. 
Oh,  turn  your  back  on  them 
With  scorn  and  disdain! 

384 


Wild  Rovers 

Come  close  to  the  bar,  boys, 
We'll  drink  all  around. 
We'll  drink  to  the  pure, 
If  any  be  found; 
We'll  drink  to  the  single, 
For  I  wish  them  success; 
Likewise  to  the  married, 
For  I  wish  them  no  less. 


385 


LIFE  IN  A  HALF-BREED  SHACK 

S  life  in  a  half-breed  shack, 
The  rain  comes  pouring  down; 

"  Drip  "  drops  the  mud  through  the  roof, 

And  the  wind  comes  through  the  wall. 

A  tenderfoot  cursed  his  luck 

And  feebly  cried  out  "  yah  1  " 

Refrain : 

Yah !     Yah !     I  want  to  go  home  to  my  ma ! 
Yah!     Yah!  this  bloomin'  country's  a  fraud! 
Yah !     Yah !     I  want  to  go  home  to  my  ma ! 

He  tries  to  kindle  a  fire 
When  it's  forty-five  below; 
He  aims  to  chop  at  a  log 
And  amputates  his  toe; 
He  hobbles  back  to  the  shack 
And  feebly  cries  out  "  yah  " ! 

He  gets  on  a  bucking  cayuse 
And  thinks  to  flourish  around, 
But  the  buzzard-head  takes  to  bucking 
And  lays  him  flat  out  on  the  ground. 
As  he  picks  himself  up  with  a  curse, 
He  feebly  cries  out  "  yah  " ! 
386 


Life  in  a  Half-Breed  Shack 

He  buys  all  the  town  lots  he  can  get 

In  the  wrong  end  of  Calgary, 

And  he  waits  and  he  waits  for  the  boom 

Until  he's  dead  broke  like  me. 

He  couldn't  get  any  tick 

So  he  feebly  cries  out  "  yah  "  I 

He  couldn't  do  any  work 

And  he  wouldn't  know  how  if  he  could; 

So  the  police  run  him  for  a  vag 

And  set  him  to  bucking  wood. 

As  he  sits  in  the  guard  room  cell, 

He  feebly  cries  out  "  yah  "  1 

Come  all  ye  tenderfeet 

And  listen  to  what  I  say, 

If  you  can't  get  a  government  job 

You  had  better  remain  where  you  be. 

Then  you  won't  curse  your  luck 

And  cry  out  feebly  "  yah  " ! 


387 


THE  ROAD  TO  COOK'S  PEAK 

IF  you'll  listen  a  while  I'll  sing  you  a  song, 
And  as  it  is  short  it  won't  take  me  long. 
There  are  some  things  of  which  I  will  speak 
Concerning  the  stage  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 
On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 
On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 
Concerning  the  stage  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 

It  was  in  the  morning  at  eight-forty-five, 

I  was  hooking  up  all  ready  to  drive 

Out  where  the  miners  for  minerals  seek, 

With  two  little  mules  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak  — 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

With  two  little  mules  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 

With  my  two  little  mules  I  jog  along 

And  try  to  cheer  them  with  ditty  and  song; 

O'er  the  wide  prairie  where  coyotes  sneak, 

While  driving  the  stage  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

While  driving  the  stage  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 

Sometimes  I  have  to  haul  heavy  freight, 
Then  it  is  I  get  home  very  late. 

388 


The  Road  to  Cook's  Peak 

In  rain  or  shine,  six  days  in  the  week, 

'Tis  the  same  little  mules  on  the  road  to  Cook's 

Peak. 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 
On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 
'Tis  the  same  little  mules  on  the  road  to  Cook's 

Peak. 

And  when  with  the  driving  of  stage  I  am  through 

I  will  to  my  two  little  mules  bid  adieu. 

And  hope  that  those  creatures,  so  gentle  and  meek, 

Will  have  a  good  friend  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

Will  have  a  good  friend  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 

Now  all  kind  friends  that  travel  about, 

Come  take  a  trip  on  the  Wallis  stage  route. 

With  a  plenty  of  grit,  they  never  get  weak, — 

Those  two  little  mules  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peat. 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

On  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak, — 

Those  two  little  mules  on  the  road  to  Cook's  Peak. 


389 


ARAPHOE,  OR  BUCKSKIN  JOE 

TT^WAS  a  calm  and  peaceful  evening  in  a  camp 

JL  called  Araphoe, 

And  the  whiskey  was  a  running  with  a  soft  and  gentle 

flow, 
The  music  was  a-ringing  in  a  dance  hall  cross  the 

way, 
And  the  dancers  was  a-swinging  just  as  close  as  they 

could  lay. 

People   gathered  round  the  tables,   a-betting  with 

their  wealth, 
And  near  by  stood  a  stranger  who  had  come  there 

for  his  health. 
He  was  a  peaceful  little  stranger  though  he  seemed 

to  be  unstrung; 
For  just  before  he'd  left  his  home  he'd  separated 

with  one  lung. 

Nearby  at  a  table  sat  a  man  named  Hankey  Dean, 
A  tougher  man  says  Hankey,  buckskin  chaps  had 

never  seen. 
But  Hankey  was  a  gambler  and  he  was  plum  sure  to 

lose; 
For  he  had  just  departed  with  a  sun-dried  stack  of 

blues. 

390 


Araphoe,  or  Buckskin  Joe 

He  rose  from  the  table,  on  the  floor  his  last  chip 
flung, 

And  cast  his  fiery  glimmers  on  the  man  with  just  one 
lung. 

"  No  wonder  I've  been  losing  every  bet  I  made  to- 
night 

When  a  sucker  and  a  tenderfoot  was  between  me  and 
the  light. 

Look  here,  little  stranger,  do  you  know  who  I  am?  " 
*  Yes,  and  I  don't  care  a  copper  colored  damn." 
The  dealers  stopped  their  dealing  and  the  players 

held  their  breath; 
For  words  like  those  to  Hankey  were  a  sudden  flirt 

with  death. 

"  Listen,  gentle  stranger,  I'll  read  my  pedigree: 
I'm  known  on  handling  tenderfeet  and  worser  men 

than  thee; 
The  lions  on  the  mountains,  I've  drove  them  to  their 

lairs; 
The  wild-cats  are  my  playmates,  and  I've  wrestled 

grizzly  bears; 

"  Why,  the  centipedes  can't  mar  my  tough  old  hide, 
And  rattle  snakes  have  bit  me  and  crawled  off  and 

died. 

I'm  as  wild  as  the  horse  that  roams  the  range ; 
The  moss  grows  on  my  teeth  and  wild  blood  flows 

through  my  veins. 

39i 


Araphoe,  or  Buckskin  Joe 

"  I'm  wild  and  woolly  and  full  of  fleas 
And  never  curried  below  the  knees. 
Now,   little  stranger,   if  you'll  give   me  your  ad- 
dress,— 
How  would  you  like  to  go,  by  fast  mail  or  express?  " 

The  little  stranger  who  was  leaning  on  the  door 
Picked  up  a  hand  of  playing  cards  that  were  scattered 

on  the  floor. 
Picking  out  the  five  of  spades,  he  pinned  it  to  the 

door 
And  then  stepped  back  some  twenty  paces  or  more. 

He  pulled  out  his  life-preserver,  and  with  a  "  one, 

two,  three,  four," 

Blotted  out  a  spot  with  every  shot; 
For  he  had  traveled  with  a  circus  and  was  a  fancy 

pistol  shot. 
"  I  have  one  more  left,  kind  sir,  if  you  wish  to  call 

the  play.'7 

Then  Hanke  stepped  up  to  the  stranger  and  made  a 
neat  apology, 

"  Why,  the  lions  in  th'e  mountains, —  that  was  noth- 
ing but  a  joke. 

Never  mind  about  the  extra,  you  are  a  bad  shooting 
man, 

And  I'm  a  meek  little  child  and  as  harmless  as  a 
lamb." 


392 


,    ROUNDED  UP  IN  GLORY 

I  HAVE  been  thinking  to-day, 
As  my  thoughts  began  to  stray, 
Of  your  memory  to  me  worth  more  than  gold. 
As  you  ride  across  the  plain, 
'Mid  the  sunshine  and  the  rain, — 
You  will  be  rounded  up  in  glory  bye  and  bye 

Chorus : 

You  will  be  rounded  up  in  glory  bye  and  bye, 
You  will  be  rounded  up  in  glory  bye  and  bye, 
When  the  milling  time  is  o'er 
And  you  will  stampede  no  more, 
When  he  rounds  you  up  within  the  Master's 
fold. 

As  you  ride  across  the  plain 

With  the  cowboys  that  have  fame, 

And  the  storms  and  the  lightning  flash  by. 

We  shall  meet  to  part  no  more 

Upon  the  golden  shore 

When  he  rounds  us  up  in  glory  bye  and  bye. 

May  we  lift  our  voices  high 
To  that  sweet  bye  and  bye, 


393 


Rounded  Up  in  Glory 

And  be  known  by  the  brand  of  the  Lord; 

For  his  property  we  are, 

And  he  will  know  us  from  afaf 

When  he  rounds  us  up  in  glory  bye  and  bye. 


394 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  HELL 

IT  was  on  a  cold  and  stormy  night 
I  saw  and  heard  an  awful  sight; 
The  lightning  flashed  and  thunder  rolled 
Around  my  poor  benighted  soul. 

I  thought  I  heard  a  mournful  sound 
Among  the  groans  still  lower  down, 
That  awful  sight  no  tongue  can  tell 
Is  this, —  the  place  called  Drunkard's  Hell. 

I  thought  I  saw  the  gulf  below 
Where  all  the  dying  drunkards  go. 
I  raised  my  hand  and  sad  to  tell 
It  was  the  place  called  Drunkard's  Hell. 

I  traveled  on  and  got  there  at  last 
And  started  to  take  a  social  glass; 
But  every  time  I  started, —  well, 
I  thought  about  the  Drunkard's  Hell. 

I  dashed  it  down  to  leave  that  place 
And  started  to  seek  redeeming  grace. 
I  felt  like  Paul,  at  once  I'd  pray 
Till  all  my  sins  were  washed  away. 

395 


The  Drunkard's  Hell 

I  then  went  home  to  change  my  life 
And  see  my  long  neglected  wife. 
I  found  her  weeping  o'er  the  bed 
Because  her  infant  babe  was  dead. 

I  told  her  not  to  mourn  and  weep 
Because  her  babe  had  gone  to  sleep; 
Its  happy  soul  had  fled  away 
To  dwell  with  Christ  till  endless  day. 

I  taken  her  by  her  pale  white  hand, 
She  was  so  weak  she  could  not  stand; 
I  laid  her  down  and  breathed  a  prayer 
That  God  might  bless  and  save  her  there. 

I  then  went  to  the  Temperance  hall 
And  taken  a  pledge  among  them  all. 
They  taken  me  in  with  a  willing  hand 
And  taken  me  in  as  a  temperance  man. 

So  seven  long  years  have  passed  away 
Since  first  I  bowed  my  knees  to  pray; 
So  now  I  live  a  sober  life 
With  a  happy  home  and  a  loving  wife. 


396 


RAMBLING  BOY 

I  AM  a  wild  and  roving  lad, 
A  wild  and  rambling  lad  I'll  be; 
For  I  do  love  a  little  girl 
And  she  does  love  me. 

"  O  Willie,  O  Willie,  I  love  you  so, 
I  love  you  more  than  I  do  know; 
And  if  my  tongue  could  tell  you  so 
I'd  give  the  world  to  let  you  know." 

When  Julia's  old  father  came  this  to  know, — 
That  Julia  and  Willie  were  loving  so, — 
He  ripped  and  swore  among  them  all, 
And  swore  he'd  use  a  cannon  ball. 

She  wrote  Willie  a  letter  with  her  right  hand 
And  sent  it  to  him  in  the  western  land. 
"  Oh,  read  these  lines,  sweet  William  dear. 
For  this  is  the  last  of  me  you  will  hear." 

He  read  those  lines  while  he  wept  and  cried, 
"  Ten  thousand  times  I  wish  I  had  died  " 
He  read  those  lines  while  he  wept  and  said, 
"  Ten  thousand  times  I  wish  I  were  dead." 

397 


Rambling  Boy 

When  her  old  father  came  home  that  night 
He  called  for  Julia,  his  heart's  delight, 
He  ran  up  stairs  and  her  door  he  broke 
And  found  her  hanging  by  her  own  bed  rope. 

And  with  his  knife  he  cut  her  down, 
And  in  her  bosom  this  note  he  found 
Saying,  "  Dig  my  grave  both  deep  and  wide 
And  bury  sweet  Willie  by  my  side." 

They  dug  her  grave  both  deep  and  wide 
And  buried  sweet  Willie  by  her  side; 
And  on  her  grave  set  a  turtle  dove 
To  show  the  world  they  died  for  love. 


398 


BRIGHAM  YOUNG.     I. 

I'LL  sing  you  a  song  that  has  often  been  sung 
About   an   old   Mormon   they   called   Brigham 

Young. 

Of  wives  he  had  many  who  were  strong  in  the  lungs, 
Which  Brigham  found  out  by  the  length  of  their 

tongues. 
Ri  tu  ral,  lol,  lu  ral. 

Oh,  sad  was  the  life  of  a  Mormon  to  lead, 
Yet  Brigham  adhered  all  his  life  to  his  creed. 
He  said  'twas  such  fun,  and  true,  without  doubt, 
To  see  the  young  wives  knock  the  old  ones  about. 
Ri  tu  ral,  lol,  lu  ral. 

One  day  as  old  Brigham  sat  down  to  his  dinner 
He  saw  a  young  wife  who  was  not  getting  thinner; 
When  the  elders  cried  out,  one  after  the  other, 
By  the  holy,  she  wants  to  go  home  to  her  mother. 
Ri  tu  ral,  lol,  lu  ral. 

Old  Brigham  replied,  which  can't  be  denied, 
He  couldn't  afford  to  lose  such  a  bride. 
Then  do  not  be  jealous  but  banish  your  fears; 
For  the  tree  is  well  known  by  the  fruit  that  it  bears. 
Ri  tu  ral,  lol,  lu  ral. 

399 


Brigham   Young.     I. 

That  I  love  one  and  all  you  very  well  know, 
Then  do  not  provoke  me  or  my  anger  will  show. 
What  must  be  our  fate  if  found  here  in  a  row, 
If  Uncle  Sam  comes  with  his  row-de-dow-dow. 
Ri  tu  ral,  lol,  lu  ral. 

Then  cease  all  your  quarrels  and  do  not  despair, 
To  meet  Uncle  Sam  I  will  quickly  prepare. 
Hark !    I  hear  Yankee  Doodle  played  over  the  hills 
Ah !  here's  the  enemy  with  their  powder  and  pills. 
Ri  tu  ral,  lol,  lu  ral. 


400 


BRIGHAM  YOUNG.    II. 

NOW  Brigham  Young  is  a  Mormon  bold, 
And  a  leader  of  the  roaring  rams, 
And  shepherd  of  a  lot  of  fine  tub  sheep 
And  a  lot  of  pretty  little  lambs. 
Oh,  he  lives  with  his  five  and  forty  wives, 
In  the  city  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake, 
Where  they  breed  and  swarm  like  hens  on  a  farm 
And  cackle  like  ducks  to  a  drake. 

Chorus :  — 

Oh  Brigham,  Brigham  Young, 
It's  a  miracle  how  you  survive, 
With  your  roaring  rams  and  your  pretty  little 

lambs 
And  your  five  and  forty  wives. 

Number  forty-five  is  about  sixteen, 

Number  one  is  sixty  and  three; 

And  they  make  such  a  riot,  how  he  keeps  them  quiet 

Is  a  downright  mystery  to  me. 

For  they  clatter  and  they  chaw  and  they  jaw,  jaw, 

jaw, 

And  each  has  a  different  desire ; 
It  would  aid  the  renown  of  the  best  shop  in  town 
To  supply  them  with  half  they  desire. 

401 


Brigham   Young.     II. 

Now,  Brigham  Young  was  a  stout  man  once, 

And  now  he  is  thin  and  old; 

And  I  am  sorry  to  state  he  is  bald  on  the  pate, 

Which  once  had  a  covering  of  gold. 

For  his  oldest  wives  won't  have  white  wool, 

And  his  young  ones  won't  have  red, 

So,  with  tearing  it  out,  and  taking  turn  about, 

They  have  torn  all  the  hair  off  his  head. 

Now,  the  oldest  wives  sing  songs  all  day, 

And  the  young  ones  all  sing  songs; 

And  amongst  such  a  crowd  he  has  it  pretty  loud, — 

They're  as  noisy  as  Chinese  gongs. 

And  when  they  advance  for  a  Mormon  dance 

He  is  filled  with  the  direst  alarms; 

For  they  are  sure  to  end  the  night  in  a  tabernacle 

fight 
To  see  who  has  the  fairest  charms. 

Now,  if  any  man  here  envies  Brigham  Young 

Let  him  go  to  the  Great  Salt  Lake; 

And  if  he  has  the  leisure  to  enjoy  his  pleasure, 

He'll  find  it  a  great  mistake. 

One  wife  at  a  time,  so  says  my  rhyme, 

Is  enough, —  there's  no  denial ;  — 

So,  before  you  strive  to  be  lord  of  forty-five, 

Take  two  for  a  month  on  trial. 


402 


THE  OLD  GRAY  MULE 

I  AM  an  old  man  some  sixty  years  old 
And  that  you  can  plain-li  see, 
But  when  I  was  a  young  man  ten  years  old 
They  made  a  stable  boy  of  me. 

I  have  seen  the  fastest  horses 
That  made  the  fastest  time, 
But  I  never  saw  one  in  all  my  life 
Like  that  old  gray  mule  of  mine. 

On  a  Sunday  morn  I  dress  myself, 
A-goin'  out  to  ride; 
Now,  my  old  mule  is  as  gray  as  a  bird, 
Then  he  is  full  of  his  pride. 

He  never  runs  away  with  you, 
Never  cuts  up  any  shine; 
For  the  only  friend  I  have  on  earth 
Is  this  old  gray  mule  of  mine. 

Now  my  old  gray  mule  is  dead  and  gone, 
Gone  to  join  the  heavenly  band, 
With  silver  shoes  upon  his  feet 
To  dance  on  the  golden  strand. 


403 


THE  FOOLS  OF  FORTY-NINE 

WHEN  gold  was  found  in  forty-eight  the  peo- 
ple thought  'twas  gas, 
And  some  were  fools  enough  to  think  the  lumps  were 

only  brass. 
But  soon  they  all  were  satisfied  and  started  off  to 

mine; 

They  bought  their  ships,  came  round  the  Horn,  in 
the  days  of  forty-nine. 

Refrain : 

Then  they  thought  of  what  they'd  been  told 

When  they  started  after  gold, — 

That  they  never  in  the  world  would  make  a  pile. 

The  people  all  were  crazy  then,  they  didn't  know 

what  to  do. 
They  sold  their  farms  for  just  enough  to  pay  their 

passage  through. 
They  bid  their  friends  a  long  farewell,  said,  "  Dear 

wife,  don't  you  cry, 
I'll  send  you  home  the  yellow  lumps  a  piano  for  to 

buy." 

The  poor,  the  old,  and  the  rotten  scows  were  ad- 
vertised to  sail 


'404 


The  Fools  of  Forty-Nine 

From  New  Orleans  with  passengers,  but  they  must 

pump  and  bail. 
The  ships  were  crowded  more  than  full,  and  some 

hung  on  behind, 
And  others  dived  off  from  the  wharf  and  swam  till 

they  were  blind. 

With    rusty   pork   and   stinking   beef    and    rotten, 

wormy  bread! 
The  captains,  too,  that  never  were  up  as  high  as  the 

main  mast  head! 
The  steerage  passengers  would  rave  and  swear  that 

they'd  paid  their  passage 
And  wanted  something  more  to  eat  beside  bologna 

sausage. 

They  then  began  to  cross  the  plain  with  oxen,  hol- 
lowing "  haw'." 

And  steamers  then  began  to  run  as  far  as  Panama. 

And  there  for  months  the  people  staid,  that  started 
after  gold, 

And  some  returned  disgusted  with  the  lies  that  had 
been  told. 

The  people  died  on  every  route,  they  sickened  and 

died  like  sheep ; 
And  those  at  sea  before  they  died  were  launched  into 

the  deep; 


405 


The  Fools  of  Forty-Nine 

And  those  that  died  while  crossing  the  plains  fared 

not  so  well  as  that, 
For  a  hole  was  dug  and  they  thrown  in  along  the 

miserable  Platte. 

The  ships  at  last  began  to  arrive  and  the  people  be- 
gan to  inquire. 

They  say  that  flour  is  a  dollar  a  pound,  do  you  think 
it  will  be  any  higher? 

And  to  carry  their  blankets  and  sleep  outdoors,  it 
seemed  so  very  droll ! 

Both  tired  and  mad,  without  a  cent,  they  damned  the 
lousy  hole, 


406 


A  RIPPING  TRIP  * 

YOU  go  aboard  a  leaky  boat 
And  sail  for  San  Francisco, 
You've  got  to  pump  to  keep  her  afloat, 
You've  got  that,  by  jingo ! 
The  engine  soon  begins  to  squeak, 
But  nary  a  thing  to  oil  her; 
Impossible  to  stop  the  leak, — 
Rip,  goes  the  boiler. 

The  captain  on  the  promenade 
Looking  very  savage; 
Steward  and  the  cabin  maid 
Fightin'  'bout  the  cabbage; 
All  about  the  cabin  floor 
Passengers  lie  sea-sick; 
Steamer  bound  to  go  ashore, — 
Rip,  goes  the  physic. 

Pork  and  beans  they  can't  afford, 
The  second  cabin  passengers; 
The  cook  has  tumbled  overboard 
With  fifty  pounds  of  sassengers; 

To  tune  of  Pop  Goes  the  Weasel 


407 


A  Ripping  Trip 

The  engineer,  a  little  tight, 
Bragging  on  the  Mail  Line, 
Finally  gets  into  a  fight, — 
Rip,  goes  the  engine. 


408 


THE  HAPPY  MINER 

I'M  a  happy  miner, 
I  love  to  sing  and  dance. 
I  wonder  what  my  love  would  say 
If  she  could  see  my  pants 
With  canvas  patches  on  my  knees 
And  one  upon  the  stern  ? 
I'll  wear  them  when  I'm  digging  here 
And  home  when  I  return. 

Refrain : 

So  I  get  in  a  jovial  way, 

I  spend  my  money  free. 

And  I've  got  plenty! 

Will  you  drink  lager  beer  with  me  ? 

She  writes  about  her  poodle  dog; 

But  never  thinks  to  say, 

"  Oh,  do  come  home,  my  honey  dear, 

I'm  pining  all  away." 

I'll  write  her  half  a  letter, 

Then  give  the  ink  a  tip. 

If  that  don't  bring  her  to  her  milk 

I'll  coolly  let  her  rip. 

They  wish  to  know  if  I  can  cook 
And  what  I  have  to  eat, 

409 


The  Happy  Miner 

And  tell  me  should  I  take  a  cold 

Be  sure  and  soak  my  feet. 

But  when  they  talk  of  cooking 

I'm  mighty  hard  to  beat, 

I've  made  ten  thousand  loaves  of  bread 

The  devil  couldn't  eat. 

I  like  a  lazy  partner 
So  I  can  take  my  ease, 
Lay  down  and  talk  of  golden  home, 
As  happy  as  you  please; 
Without  a  thing  to  eat  or  drink, 
Away  from  care  and  grief, — 
I'm  fat  and  sassy,  ragged,  too, 
And  tough  as  Spanish  beef. 

No  matter  whether  rich  or  poor, 

I'm  happy  as  a  clam. 

I  wish  my  friends  at  home  could  look 

And  see  me  as  I  am. 

With  woolen  shirt  and  rubber  boots, 

In  mud  up  to  my  knees, 

And  lice  as  large  as  chilli  beans 

Fighting  with  the  fleas. 

I'll  mine  for  half  an  ounce  a  day, 
Perhaps  a  little  less ; 
But  when  it  comes  to  China  pay 
I  cannot  stand  the  press. 
Like  thousands  there,  I'll  make  a  pile, 
If  I  make  one  at  all, 
About  the  time  the  allied  forces 
Take  Sepasterpol. 
410 


THE  CALIFORNIA  STAGE  COMPANY 

THERE'S  no  respect  for  youth  or  age 
On  board  the  California  stage, 
But  pull  and  haul  about  the  seats 
As  bed-bugs  do  about  the  sheets. 

Refrain: 

They  started  as  a  thieving  line 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-nine; 

All  opposition  they  defy, 

So  the  people  must  root  hog  or  die. 

You're  crowded  in  with  Chinamen, 
As  fattening  hogs  are  in  a  pen; 
And  what  will  more  a  man  provoke 
Is  musty  plug  tobacco  smoke. 

The  ladies  are  compelled  to  sit 
With  dresses  in  tobacco  spit; 
The  gentlemen  don't  seem  to  care, 
But  talk  on  politics  and  swear. 

The  dust  is  deep  in  summer  time, 
The  mountains  very  hard  to  climb, 
And  drivers  often  stop  and  yell, 
"  Get  out,  all  hands,  and  push  up  hill." 
411 


The  California  Stage  Company 

The  drivers,  when  they  feel  inclined, 
Will  have  you  walking  on  behind, 
And  on  your  shoulders  lug  a  pole 
To  help  them  out  some  muddy  hole. 

They  promise  when  your  fare  you  pay, 
"  You'll  have  to  walk  but  half  the  way  " ; 
Then  add  aside,  with  cunning  laugh, 
"  You'll  have  to  push  the  other  half." 


412 


NEW  NATIONAL  ANTHEM 

MY  country,  'tis  of  thee, 
Land  where  things  used  to  be 
So  cheap,  we  croak. 
Land  of  the  mavericks, 
Land  of  the  puncher's  tricks, 
,        Thy  culture-inroad  pricks 

The  hide  of  this  peeler-bloke. 

Some  of  the  punchers  swear 
That  what  they  eat  and  wear 
Takes  all  their  calves. 
Others  vow  that  they 
Eat  only  once  a  day 
Jerked  beef  and  prairie  hay 
Washed  down  with  tallow  salves. 

These  salty-dogs  **  but  crave 
To  pull  them  out  the  grave 
Just  one  Kiowa  spur. 
They  know  they  still  will  dine 
On  flesh  and  beef  the  time; 
But  give  us,  Lord  divine, 
One  "  hen-fruit  stir."  * 

**  Cowboy  Dude. 
*  Pancake. 

413 


New  National  Anthem 

Our  father's  land,  with  thee, 
Best  trails  of  liberty, 
We  chose  to  stop. 
We  don't  exactly  like 
So  soon  to  henceward  hike, 
But  hell,  we'll  take  the  pike 
If  this  don't  stop. 


414 


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